


Don't Worry (i'm okay now)

by Lilas (pegasus_01)



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pegasus_01/pseuds/Lilas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven people and events that shaped James Kirk into the captain he was meant to be, and one that made no difference at all. (Star Trek Big Bang 2010)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. George Kirk

**Author's Note:**

> This was my 2010 ST Big Bang entry. Originally I only had the link to my livejournal posted here but I've finally decided to move the entire story to AO3. The art is by Makowe Pola and can be found here: **Link to Art:** [The Master Post](http://makowe-pola.livejournal.com/31637.html)  
>  Sadly I never got the fan mix for the story, but I wrote the entire thing with Amy Macdonald playing on repeat (her songs can be found on youtube here: [Amy Macdonald](http://www.youtube.com/user/amymacdonaldofficial?ob=4&feature=results_main)) 
> 
> All previous thank yous still stand: 
> 
> I'd like to start by saying that this is all 's fault (as is most of everything that I do in fandom). After listening to me bitch and moan about how big this fic was getting, she said, in no uncertain terms, that I should submit it as a Big Bang. To which, of course, I laughed. Because the idea was preposterous. And so a few months later, here I am. So yes, thank you for enabling me and helping me through it and just being there. If it hadn't been for you, this fic would just not be what it is. You are universe!awesome.
> 
> Next, a huge huge huge thank you to for being another pair of eyes! I really needed someone else to take a look at this thing because as much as I love my baby, it had gotten to the point where chucking it out the window was starting to sound like a great idea.
> 
> And finally, my artist !! This fic would not be half as awesome without an amazing set of artwork and music to go with it! I can't even begin to describe how incredibly lucky I am to have been chosen by these two amazing artists! So thank you thank you thank you for bringing this fic to life!

Winona sighed, her brows furrowing in annoyance as she felt the baby kick again. And again. Absentmindedly she placed a hand on her swollen belly as she tapped away on her PADD, willing the child within her to calm the fuck down and go to sleep already. The kicking and heartburn and nausea had progressively gotten worse in the past few days and she had half a mind to actually follow George’s advice and go to sick bay, if only to get the doctor to give her something (anything!) that would make the baby stop it.

The baby kicked again and just as she threw down the PADD onto the bed and glared down at her stomach, the pain surged out of nowhere and gripped her insides so tightly she instinctively shut her eyes and clutched her stomach as she felt the air whooshing out from her lungs. She chocked on a sob as the pain continued for what seemed like forever until, just as suddenly, it vanished. She slowly opened her eyes to look at the room through blurry vision, her skin drenched in a cold sweat, her lungs swallowing as much air as possible in harsh little pants. 

That was one damn painful contraction.

Without thinking, she switched on the communicator near the bed. “Lieutenant Kirk to Sickbay,” she said, her voice shaking as much as her hand was.

_“Sickbay here, go ahead Lieutenant.”_

“I think I’m having labor pains,” she replied, staring down at her stomach with something akin to fear. “I thought Doctor Vega said the baby wasn’t supposed to be coming until we’d docked back on Earth. Why –”

_“Calm down Lieutenant. We’ll send someone to your room to check you out. It might be a false alarm,”_ the nurse said soothingly, cutting off her panicked ramblings.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, nodding her head. “Right. False labor pains.” She’d never had that happen with George Junior.

She waited on the bed for the chime at the door, debating the entire time whether or not she should let George know what was happening. He’d freak out in his Kirkian way and look at Captain Robau with those big blue eyes of his and everyone on the bridge would laugh at him as he’d be excused and rushed down to medical for… Well, probably nothing.

She hummed softly to herself, her hand rubbing her swollen abdomen. Just as the door chimed and she pressed the button to let the nurse in, another wave of pain surged up and hit her with so much force that she cried out in surprise and continued crying out in pain, unable to stop herself from doubling over as her muscles contracted.

She felt hands on her, soothing her hair back, rubbing her shoulder, and when a hand gripped hers, she gripped back with everything she had and hoped it would be enough to anchor her. And once again, just as suddenly as it had come, it dissipated, leaving her weak and shaky and covered in cold sweat.

“There we go, Lieutenant. Deep breaths.”

She nodded dumbly, her hand still gripping the nurse’s hand tightly. “I don’t…” She swallowed and forced her body to stop shaking. “I don’t think these are false alarms.”

The nurse looked at her seriously and nodded, pulling out the tricoder attached to his belt. “My mother always told me to listen to her because she said mothers knew best. And she was always right,” he said as he pointed the tricoder at her and started scanning her. “I haven’t doubted a mother’s words since I was in high school, and I’m not going to start now.”

Winona nodded gratefully, glad she wasn’t going to have to fight anyone on this. She heard the tricoder’s unhappy chirp and saw the nurse frown at what he was seeing and instinctively clutched the hand on her stomach into a fist. 

“Should I let Commander Kirk know the baby’s coming?” she asked, already reaching for the terminal before the nurse even nodded.

“Knowing Commander Kirk, I would be remiss if I told you otherwise.”

Winona felt a small grin tugging at her lips, and just as she toggled communications to George’s station on the bridge, she felt a wet sensation spreading out from her and soaking up her legs. She grimaced and groaned.

“Winona? What’s wrong?” Winona smiled despite herself. George sounded frantic.

“My water just broke.” She winced at the not-so-girly squeal that came over the communicator. “George, calm down. Jesus Christ, you’d think you were the one having the baby,” she grumbled as she accepted Nurse Patterson’s hand and moved from the bed to the wheelchair, smiling gratefully when he draped a blanket across her lap. 

“Commander, I’ll be taking your wife to sick bay for monitoring,” the nurse cut in.

“How long until she delivers?” George asked, voice back to normal despite the fact that Winona could hear the nervousness he was trying to hide.

“It’s always difficult to tell, sir, but basing off of Lieutenant Kirk’s previous delivery, I’m going to guess nothing’s going to come about until at least four hours from now, sir.”

“I’ll talk to you later, George,” Winona interjected before her husband could say anything else. “You better be there this time, you hear? You promised,” she reminded him.

“I know, sweetie,” he replied, voice as serious as she’d ever heard him. “I’ll be there.”

***  
Winona could feel the tears streaming down her face as she screamed, pushing with all her might as another contraction gripped her body. Distantly she could hear the nurse that had accompanied them onto the shuttle encouraging her to push, ordering her to do it now, but she couldn’t keep her focus on anything other than the pain and the strange sensation of something trying to break free from her. 

And then suddenly the pain seemed to shoot out of her body and she collapsed back onto the gurney, her shaking arms no longer able to support her. She panted softly, blond hair sticking to her forehead, blue eyes staring at the ceiling. The sound of a baby crying snapped her out of it and she scooted up a little, holding her arms out as the nurse came her way, a bundle of blankets cradled carefully in her arms. She stared at in wonder, following the path of the bundle as the nurse transferred it to her arms, and she was suddenly staring at George’s eyes from the crook of her arm.

_“So what is it?”_

She tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat as the baby settled down. “It’s a boy.”

_“It’s a boy? Yeah! Tell me– tell me about him. Please.”_

Winona could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and slowly making their way down her cheeks as she looked at her baby boy, counting the ten little fingers of his hand and feeling the ten others in his toes. She couldn’t have stopped the sob that escaped her even if she’d tried.

“He’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful.” She chocked on another sob as she drew a finger down the baby’s cheeks, causing him to stir and open his eyes. “He looks like you. George – you should be here.” 

The split second pause was more telling than anything else. _“I know…”_

Winona could feel a slow rise of panic bubbling up in her throat and she instinctively tightened her grip around her son. “You have to get out of there!” she shouted, wildly looking up and through the shuttle’s little window, which gave her a perfect view of the wrecked ship. “George, listen to me– get off that ship right now!”

She felt her son squirm in her grip and make a displeased noise, even as bright blue eyes looked up at her.

_“Winona– I can’t. This is– there’s no other way. I’m sorry– I’m so sorry.”_ She could picture him in her mind, hands clenched tightly in a fist, blue eyes dark with emotion even as he refused to acknowledge the tears that gathered in them. But she knew better. _“Tell me– tell me what he looks like,”_ he pleaded.

She could hear the desperation in his voice and feel her self control slipping as she realized the end was near. She looked down at her son again, and felt the tears stream down her cheeks as he blinked up at her sleepily. “Blue eyes,” she heard her voice say as she watched George’s eyes opening and closing. “God, they’re your eyes,” she sobbed, tearing her eyes away from the newborn and through the window where she could see the _USS Kelvin_ slowly make its way toward the giant ship that had appeared out of nowhere.

_“So what should we call him, huh?”_

She blinked, confused. “Name–” That’s right. They’d promised George Junior they wouldn’t find out the baby’s sex beforehand and that he’d get a final say on the baby’s name. “We have to name him. What about– ” she couldn’t think, why couldn’t she think? “After your father, Tiberius?”

_“Tiberius?_ ” She could hear the choked laugh he suppressed at her suggestion. “Are you kidding me? That’s no name for a kid.” She couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her lips. “We’ll name him after your father. Jim.”

Winona smiled softly at that as she tore her gaze away from the view pane and back to the child in her arms. “Jim,” she said softly, testing out a name she hadn’t said in a long, long time. She liked the sound of it. “Jim it is.”

_“Sweetheart? Sweetheart, can you hear me?”_

“Yes,” she cried, instinctively looking up and around the small craft. “Yes, I hear you.”

_“I love you. I love you. I lov–”_

Winona gasped and clutched the baby – Jim – closer to her as George’s voice suddenly cut off and static filled the end of his incomplete sentence. 

“George…” 

She watched as the explosion from the Kelvin’s impact flooded the shuttle, momentarily blinding her with its brightness. Like George’s life, fleeting as it had been, it had washed out everything in its path in a brilliant flood of light. As it dimmed, she laid her head back down and watched her newborn son sleep, unaware of his father’s sacrifice, unaware of his mother’s grief, unaware and content to simply be held in a warm cocoon.

She watched him and she cried.


	2. Winona Kirk

Jimmy Kirk didn’t remember the first three years of his life, nor did he particularly want to. What twelve year old wanted to be told about that time when he pooped all over himself or peed in his mother’s face as she was changing his diaper? 

What Jimmy Kirk remembered most between the ages three to six were days spent in the sun as he followed Sam through the cornfields, getting lost watching the stars twinkle up above him, and the old, red car that had sat in the garage gathering dust. 

He’d asked Sam about it once, and why it sat rusting in the garage, and if no one was using it why didn’t Mom just get rid of it and buy a new hovercar like the one Johnny’s parents had? Sam had told him to mind his own business and that he’d find out when he was older. So Jimmy had shrugged and figured this was just another weird grown-up thing like the weird lip-sucking thing Sam did with Pamela from down the street in the barn when Mom was working in the shipyard.

What Jimmy Kirk remembered most between the ages six to ten was going to school and being _so bored_. He’d taught himself how to read when he was around four or five, watching as Sam did his homework and read the instructions out loud. He’d watched old 20th century movies with subtitles on and repeated the words as he read them, forming whole sentences from disassociated letters. He remembered dragging a kitchen chair to the living room when he was eight and standing on his tippy toes so he could reach the books and take them up to his room. He’d spent hours running his fingers through the old parchment and sounding out the words, repeating them over and over until the sentences suddenly made sense. 

Winona Kirk had finally caught him in the act when he was nine years old. He’d been trying to get a book from the top shelf and had slipped, his body banging against the bookshelf before he and the books had come crashing down to the floor with a thunderous noise. He’d sat on the floor, blinking his eyes dazedly, and had jerked backward when his mother had run into the room with an old style shotgun in her hands, blond hair disheveled and a robe thrown on haphazardly. 

She’d looked at him sitting in the middle of the books and had blinked, confused. “Jim?”

He’d given her a small smile, hand going to his throbbing head to rub it, but as soon as he’d touched the back of it his fingers had met with something sticky, and he’d pulled them back, staring at his blood red fingertips. Suddenly it was as if a switch had been toggled on and his entire body had begun throbbing, the back of his head the loudest of his injuries. He’d whimpered softly and had looked at his mother. 

“Mom?”

At the sound of his voice, Winona had sprung into action, dropping the shotgun and falling beside her youngest, long fingers probing and prodding him, gently running over his head and snapping away at his pained whine. 

“Sam!” Winona had yelled as she’d picked up her son and had made her way toward the front entrance. “George Samuel Kirk, I know you’re awake in that bedroom of yours! Stop jacking off and get down here!”

Jimmy shut his eyes tightly at the sound of her voice and buried his face into the crook of her neck, trying to visualize the night sky and ignore the throbbing pain shooting up and down his body, pounding in time with his heart.

“Mom!” Jimmy heard his brother yell indignantly as his bedroom door slammed open. “Stop trying to embarrass me! It won’t work!”

“Samuel!” Winona cried again. Jimmy reflexively tightened his grip on her shirt and let out a small whimper. Winona started and smoothed her hand down her son’s back. “Sorry, sweetie,” she mumbled in his hair. “Sam, put your shoes and jacket on, we’re going to the hospital,” she continued, voice low but carrying up the staircase.

“What? What happened?” Sam asked as he pounded his way down the stairs, grabbing his jacket and tugging his shoes on. “Mom. Mom, why is Jim—”

“Hush, Sam,” Winona cut him off. “Grab his jacket, and let’s go.”

They’d spent five hours at the emergency room that evening. The final verdict had been some bruises and a concussion. After that, his mother had sat him down at the kitchen table, made them all some milk with honey and asked him what he thought he’d been doing. So he’d spilled his secrets, telling her how all the books in his room were too easy, and besides he’d already read them all. Winona had looked at him thoughtfully then, and nodded. 

“Finish your milk, Jim. You’re sleeping in my room tonight,” she’d said.

Jimmy had had half a mind to object but decided against it. His head still hurt and he didn’t think he’d much enjoy getting on her bad side tonight (if he wasn’t already). The next morning, Jimmy stayed in bed all day, his head throbbing and his ribs aching, but at least his mother was no longer waking him up every two hours. That night, when he’d finally felt more human than he had all day, he joined Sam and his mother for dinner. As he’d descended the stairs, he’d stopped at the bottom and stared at the new bookshelf on the other side of the room. It was short, maybe a head taller than him, and crammed full of books he’d never seen before. He’d made his way to it and moved his hand reverently over the books, staring at them and wondering where they had come from.

A hand in his hair startled him and he looked up into his mother’s face. She smiled at him and sat down next to him, pulling a book out. “These used to be your father’s,” she said, still looking at the book. “He’d have wanted you to read them,” she continued, offering him the book.

Jimmy had taken it in his hand and stared at its worn out cover and old parchment paper, ready to embark on a journey that would take him to the second star on the right and straight on till morning. 

What Jimmy Kirk remembered most between the ages ten to eleven was his mother’s sudden happiness. It wasn’t that Winona Kirk was depressed, or sad, or sometimes so angry that she refused to look her youngest son in the eyes, but it’s just that sometimes, she was; or, she had been. One day Jimmy had come home from school to find her humming and twirling, a bowl in her arms as she mixed a batter together. She’d looked up at the sound of the door opening and smiled at him, the most brilliant smile he had ever seen. 

“Hi Jimmy,” she’d chirped. “How was school?”

“Good…” he’d replied, unsure what he should be expecting from all this. “Mom, what’s—”

She cut him off with a shushing sound. “Go put your things down and come back here to help me finish these cookies.” 

Still stunned, he’d done as he’d been told and when he’d gotten back to the kitchen, Sam was seated at the table, staring at their mother as if she’d suddenly grown another head. Brown eyes looked up to meet with bright blue ones and Jimmy had shrugged at his brother’s obvious question. They’d spent that afternoon filling the house with the smell of chocolate chip cookies baked from scratch. 

As they’d sat around the kitchen table eating the cookies for dinner, Winona had looked at her children with a twinkle in her eyes and a smile tugging at her chapped lips. “I want you to meet someone,” she’d said. “I think you’ll like him,” she’d continued.

The next night, Frank had come over.

What Jimmy Kirk remembered most about age eleven was the slow, putrid stench that had slowly descended upon the Kirk household and coated everything within it with what seemed like death, darkness, and disease. It had started innocently enough: Frank had come over for dinner one night, then another time a few nights later, then brunch on Sunday morning, and then one day he’d been there early in the morning before school started, seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of him and working on a PADD. At first, Sam and Jimmy had smiled and nodded, happy that for once their mother had been all smiles and twirls instead of half grins and sad blue eyes.

But there was something wrong with the man that Winona Kirk didn’t seem to see. It wasn’t anything overt that the boys could call out on, just something that was there, festering, growing between Frank and them. It was a body shove as they passed each other in the hallway, an indecipherable look as he stared at them from across the kitchen table, a ringing command couched in a request as he told one of them to get him another beer from the fridge as he draped his arm across Winona’s shoulders, claiming her. It rankled Sam more than Jimmy; Sam who had known George Kirk and had had a father. 

Days became months, became a year, and one day Winona came back into the house, her smile brighter than either boys could ever remember seeing, a gold band shining with the reflection of the sun as it streamed through the window. She made a big pot of hot chocolate and congregated with her boys around the kitchen table. She’d handed each of them a cup of cocoa and looked at them seriously.

“Frank asked me to marry him,” she’d finally said after a moment of silence, right hand twirling the gold band that had not been there a few hours ago. “I said yes,” she’d continued, “but I need you to know that it’s not a sure thing.” Sam and Jimmy had looked at each other, eyes wide in silent communication. “I need to know you’re both okay with this.”

“Mom?” Jimmy had finally ventured, unsure what exactly his mother was asking of them.

“I could never replace your father. No one could, and no one will,” she’d said. “But Frank… Frank makes me happy. But I need to know that he makes you happy. If you… I won’t marry him if you boys don’t… I won’t…” She fell quiet, eyes lowering to stare at her engagement band.

Jimmy had watched her desperately, unsure what to do. He’d turned wild blue eyes toward his brother, waiting to see what Sam would say, what he would do; whatever Sam did, Jimmy would follow. Silently, he’d watched as Sam’s gaze darkened and the older boy had put his hand over his mother’s, covering the ring.

“Mom,” he rasped, licking his lips as he tried to buy some time as he thought about what he wanted to say. “You deserve to be happy, Mom. You deserve… Please be happy,” Sam had whispered, hazel eyes staring at his mother, refusing to look away as imploring, calculating blue ones met his and held them. 

“Jim?” his mother had asked, turning to look at him.

Jimmy had licked his lips nervously and nodded, blue eyes boring into his mother’s. “I want you to be happy.”

What Jimmy Kirk remembered most about his Mom marrying Frank was how it had finally given her the chance to get out of Iowa and back into space where she could be closer to George Kirk. It was how the tension that had existed between Sam and Frank had exploded once she was gone for good. It was how Frank had looked at the red corvette gathering dust in the garage with something vile and greedy gleaming in his eyes. It was how Frank had pushed and pushed until Sam had finally broken and not even Jimmy’s pleading and begging had changed his mind. It was how Frank had ordered Jimmy to clean and wax the car so he could sell it to the highest bidder. 

What Jimmy Kirk remembered most about that day when he had stolen the car was the high he’d felt thrumming through his veins as the car had sped faster and faster toward an infinite horizon. It was the wind in his hair and the sun in his eyes and the blur of colors in his peripheral vision. It was how the road ahead had seemed clearer, and everything had felt more alive. It was how _he_ had felt more alive (untouchable, invincible, unbreakable). It was how he had imagined that instead of a car, he was in a ship, and instead of cornfields he was flying through the stars. It was how he had discovered the rest of his life. 

What Jimmy Kirk remembered most about after he’d been taken to the police station and booked was Frank’s livid face, purple in his anger, and the fact that there had been no one in the house to stop him from beating Jimmy within an inch of his life. It was the fact that Frank had called Winona before he’d come to pick up Jimmy and woven a tale of lies and deceit that sealed Jimmy’s fate before he’d been given a chance to tell his mother what had truly happened. It was the fact that Winona had believed Frank unquestionably and given him free reign of Jimmy’s punishment without even listening to her son. It was how when he’d gotten home, a satchel had been packed and Frank had told him Winona and he thought it was best if Jimmy stayed with her brother on Tarsus IV. 

What Jimmy Kirk remembered most about ages three to twelve was… Well, he’d much rather forget ages three to twelve.


	3. Governor Kodos

James hated Tarsus IV. It was too much like Iowa, golden fields stretching in all directions for miles and miles and into the horizon. It was too sunny, too pretty, too… too much. The people were always smiling, always polite, and way too much into gossip for his tastes. And he was the news of the century: George Kirk’s boy, child celebrity, living amongst the peasants of the colony. It did nothing for his attitude problem.

His uncle had picked him up at the shuttle port, looking him up and down, assessing him, judging him, and wondering how much trouble he was going to be. It hadn’t been the first time someone had looked at him like that, and James had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last either. They’d walked from the shuttle port to his uncle’s house, and all the while people had stopped and stared, pointing at him, whispering about him: Winona Kirk’s child, the _Kelvin_ baby.

He’d been given the grand tour of the house (kitchen, living room, guest bathroom, his room, his bathroom, Uncle Mike’s suite) and then his uncle had lead him to the backdoor, opened it and shown him the vast expanse of land beyond it.

“That’s the farm,” he’d said, pointing from one end of the horizon to the other. “When you’re not at school or doing your homework, you’ll be helping me and the other helps with it.” He’d looked at James then, a look on his face James would later recognize as condescending. “Your mother did teach you to work the farm back on Earth, right?”

James had glared at the golden field beyond, wishing it’d catch fire. “Yes, sir.”

His uncle had nodded. “Good.”

 _James hunkered down into the mud, blue eyes staring out into the tree line, watching and waiting for movement, hoping it would never come, hoping that if it came it wouldn’t be the guards but Starfleet – his mother. He could feel the slime between his toes and the cold of the mud seeping past his paper thin skin and settling into his bones. But it was his turn for guard duty while the other kids scavenged for food and took care of the little ones._

School was slightly more tolerable on Tarsus than it had been in Iowa. He’d been given performance evaluations and the teachers had quickly realized that he was much smarter than his twelve year old peers. He was placed into advance classes with kids three and four years older than him, but he knew he was still smarter. Unfortunately, he also knew he was scrawny, even for his age, and he’d learned quickly that the best way to not get bullied was to act as dumb as they were. If he’d had wanted to remember what life between ages six to ten had been like, he’d have had to say that age twelve was pretty much the same.

He’d spend his days staring at the sky out the classroom window and gazing at the endless fields of gold as he helped his uncle with the farm. It was monotonous and repetitive, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. He had nowhere else to go.

_It’d been three weeks since James had managed to sneak out of Kodos’ mansion and make his way out of the village and into the forest, running as fast as his skinny legs could carry him to his tree house. Three painfully long weeks since he’d gotten there and found ten kids waiting for him, all of them starved and scared; waiting for him because they weren’t sure what else to do. It’d been three weeks since he’d marched them off further into the woods and found them all a cave near a stream where they were able to hide from the guards._

_None of those kids, except for James, was even supposed to be alive._

The first time he’d met Governor Kodos, it had been a typical day at school. He’d been at his seat, staring at the sky when a knock on the classroom door had interrupted the teacher. The interruption had been sufficiently unusual to pull James out of his reverie and he’d watched as a small woman had come in and spoken with the teacher with a note of urgency and anxiety that even Tommy at the back of the class had noticed. 

“James T. Kirk,” the teacher shouted as the little woman stood by her. James stood up, hands loose at his side. “Please gather your things and follow Ms. Edison.”

James felt Tommy kick his chair from behind but he ignored the older boy as he grabbed his bag and followed the woman through twists and turns until they’d reached the headmaster’s room. The woman knocked on the door and opened it on command, pushing James through and closing it behind him. Inside the room were the headmaster and another man, tall with ruby red hair and a beard, and whose presence could not be denied, even by James. He’d watched as the headmaster rose from his seat and nodded at the stranger, walking past James and out the door.

He’d silently observed the man warily, wondering what this was all about, wondering what he’d done now and what these people would do to punish him. 

“Hello, James. I’m Governor Kodos.” He was so busy staring at nothing and plotting his escape that he’d almost missed what the man had said. “Please, have a seat,” Kodos continued, gesturing at the chair next to him.

“I think I’ll stand, thanks,” James replied, back straight and eyes daring him to force the boy to comply.

“Very well,” the man conceded. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here, James.” Silence. “Do you remember the test you and your classmates took last week?” he asked, looking down to riffle through some files and pulling out a familiar looking paper. “I was very impressed with your scores, James. No student on Tarsus has ever scored so high in these exams before.” James looked at him silently, waiting for a question. Kodos shook his head. “I wanted to meet the little boy genius we seem to have been blessed with.”

James nodded. “A pleasure, sir.”

Kodos nodded at the response, apparently pleased with what little he had gotten from the young man. “The pleasure is all mine, my dear boy,” Kodos smiled, slowly getting up and making his way towards the door, towards James. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other before long, Mr. Kirk,” Kodos said, squeezing James’s shoulder and making his way out the door.

James turned his head slightly and watched the man exit the room, leaving James alone. He stood motionless for a few seconds before looking down at where the man had patted his shoulder and staring at the spot for a long time.

 _James had run away from Kodos’ mansion with nothing but the clothes on his back and a serrated knife he’d managed to find. Once he’d found the kids and had moved them from the tree house to the cave, he’d divided them into three groups: the scavengers, the caretakers, and the little ones. He’d fit himself into the first two categories, and when necessary used the knife to act as a bodyguard. He’d hunker down by the trees surrounding the cave and stayed as still as a predator, waiting and listening for any footsteps that were louder than a child’s, bony hand closed tightly around the hilt of the knife._

Years later, people would wonder how it was that the colony had missed the signs of the spreading fungus; how it was that no one had noticed anything until it was too late and four thousand people had died. But the truth of the matter was that the spread of the blight had been slow, barely noticeable, and by the time the colonists had realized what was happening, there had been nothing they could have done but pray; and even that had not been enough.

At first, the colonists had been optimistic, scientists and farmers all convinced that they would be able to devise a means to combat the plague. In the next few months, all leads had been exhausted and discarded. The governor had begun touring the colony, reassuring his people, letting them know that they were working on the problem, telling them not to lose hope, asking them to have faith. When the rationing decree had gone out, a panic had swept over the colony. The schools closed and the old, antique shotgun his uncle had displayed on the wall in the living room became a permanent fixture at his uncle’s side. 

The ensuing panic caused Kodos to issue a curfew throughout the colony, to be effective immediately. James could feel a nervous energy sweep over the colony at the decree. He could feel it in the air, the same oppressive felling that had come over the house as Frank’s presence had slowly tainted it from the inside out. Without thinking about it, he snuck out of his uncle’s farm and darted through the woods to Tommy’s house, throwing pebbles at the boy’s window until his head peeked out. 

“Kirk?” the older boy had hissed, eyes wide. “What the fuck are you doing there?”

“Get down here,” James had gestured, his voice a tone his crewmates would later come to know and respect. 

Tommy looked at James from out the window for another second before his head disappeared. A few moments later, he stood in front of the smaller boy, dark eyes watching him. 

“I have a bad feeling,” James said.

“Really, now?” Tommy commented, crossing his arms in front of his chest, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What gave it away? The rotting crops or the sudden increase in guard levels throughout the cities?”

“Shut up for one minute, will you?” James hissed back, blue eyes serious in his determination. “Listen to me. If something happens,” Tommy opened his mouth to interrupt, “I don’t _know_ what, but if _something_ , _anything_ , happens, I want you to gather as many kids as you can and meet me at the tree house we made last summer.”

Tommy stared at him for a few silent seconds before dropping his arms by his side. “You’re serious.”

“I just… I have a bad feeling, okay?” James said, looking around himself nervously.

“Okay,” Tommy nodded. 

“And make sure you grab some food before you scram,” James continued.

“Okay,” Tommy confirmed.

“Okay,” James nodded, pleased the other boy had agreed. “I’m off before I get caught. Don’t forget, the tree house.”

_By the time the Federation had shown up, James had killed five people – three soldiers, one man who had tried to steal the group’s almost non-existent food supply, and one woman who had been critically injured from the guards’ phasers and who had begged for death. He knew he’d done what was necessary, what he’d needed to do to survive and to help those for whom he cared to survive, but that didn’t change anything. He’d gone from being a child to being a killer; from being a scrawny fourteen year old kid to being a skeletal harbinger of death. By the time Starfleet had arrived with supplies and found their band, James had lost two of his children and his childhood right along with them._

It had been night when the guards had come to his uncle’s house, breaking down the door and storming in. James had been in his room, lying listlessly on the bed and pretending he wasn’t hungry – there was only enough food going around for two meager meals a day by then, and he’d already begun losing weight when, at his age, he should have been gaining it. As soon as the door had been torn off, he’d sprung from his bed, adrenaline pumping through his body and making him hyper aware. He’d heard his uncle shout out in alarm and the sound of the shotgun going off, quickly followed by phaser fire. He’d had just enough time to grab the bat propped against his desk before the door to his room had been kicked in. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness had been the bright blue light from a phaser gun as it shot toward him.

He’d woken up on the floor of a room filled with other people, his body aching and his head pounding in time with his heart. There were murmurs all around him as people sat huddled in groups, talking to each other and occasionally looking up and around themselves, as if they were hoping to see something they had not seen before. James slowly levered himself upright, pressing his fingers into his temple, hoping to abate the headache but knowing the gesture was futile. He spied a group of women near him and tapped the nearest one’s shoulder, drawing her attention. 

“What’s–”

“I don’t know, kid,” she interrupted him. “We’ve all been here for a while, and none of us know what’s going on.”

“Oh,” James replied lamely. 

She’d raised her eyebrow at this and then turned back to the group of women, forgetting him. He’d just managed to get his feet under him when a door to a balcony burst open and Governor Kodos walked in flanked by his guards, all of them holding phaser rifles. There was a ripple of movement and loud murmurs as the people gathered in the room noticed the presence of the governor and stopped what they were doing to look up at him. The man raised both hands up and the entire room fell silent at the gesture.

“My good people,” Kodos began speaking. “Please, do not be alarmed. You are here for your safety. Remain patient and food will be distributed shortly.” At this, the murmurs began anew, an excited undertone suffusing the room. Kodos raised his hand again, demanding silence. “James Kirk?” he asked expectantly, eyes roaming the crowd.

James blinked, surprised at being singled out. Unsure whether to be weary or glad at the turn of events, he stood up and looked up at Kodos. All around him people looked over at him, staring at him as if he were a rare artifact in a museum. The rumors and whispers about him and his parents had never ceased, even after two years.

“Ah, there you are, my dear boy.” Kodos gestured at his guards and two of them disappeared. James had a pretty good idea where they were headed. “Please, join me.”

Just as the governor made his request, the guards reappeared and made their way toward James, as he’d thought they would. James allowed them to flank him and guide him away from the crowd. They walked through darken corridors, twisting and turning until James had lost track of where he was and would be unable to retrace his steps. Finally, James saw a group of people standing in front of a closed door, Kodos at the head of the group. James was led up to him and then shoved forward, nearly causing him to stumble into the man.

“I wished for you to be here, James,” the man said, voice heavy and colder than James had ever heard. “It is important for a mind such as yours to be here for this, so you may understand,” he continued. 

James looked at him puzzled, wondering what he was trying to say. A guard opened the double door in front of Kodos and the governor stepped forward. Something from behind James pushed him along and through the doors, a step behind the governor. He found himself on a balcony overlooking a sea of people divided into groups and murmuring to one another. As soon as Kodos stepped forward, all noise stopped and the people looked up at him, nervous and scared. James wondered if that was how his group had looked when Kodos had first emerged. Movement from the corner of his eyes made him look sideways and down, and for the first time he noticed that there was a gaggle of soldiers standing around the room, phaser rifles in their hands and pointed at the colonists. 

“Colonists of Tarsus IV,” Kodos started, his voice sounding nothing like it had been when he’d addressed James’s group. “The fungus has spread like wildfire amongst our crops, and survival depends on drastic measures.” 

James glanced around the room, eyes darting nervously from soldier to soldier, his stomach knotting itself up and the hair at the back of his neck standing up as a bad feeling came over him. 

“Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony,” Kodos continued, ignoring the growing murmurs from the crowd below. “Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered, by Kodos, Governor of Tarsus IV.”

James snapped his head to the man beside him, unable to believe what he had just heard. Just as he did so, the whine of charging rifles filled the hall and before James could open his mouth to ask the governor what was going on, the soldiers fired. Instantly chaos broke out as people began screaming and running, begging for their lives as the phaser fire painted the room red. James stared at the scene beneath him, his stomach rebelling at the atrocity he was bearing witness to. 

“Sometimes, James,” Kodos said as he stood his ground and watched the people below be massacred, “a person’s only solution to a problem leaves much to be desired. Nevertheless, it must not be disregarded for its unpleasantness. It is still a solution.”


	4. Christopher Pike

Jim pulled in another drag of the cigarette hanging between his lips, watching as the smoke curled and dissipated into the night air as he blew it out his nose. He leaned against his bike and watched as the stars patterned the night sky as the sun continued to sink below the horizon. After ten years, he was finally back at Riverside and he didn’t know what to do with himself. He hadn’t spoken to his mother since before he’d run the corvette off the quarry, and now it felt almost pointless to try. He wondered where Sam was, if he’d decided to come back after Jim had been sent away, if he’d known that Jim had been on Tarsus when Kodos had—

Jim shook his head and threw the cigarette onto the ground, smashing it with the toe of his boot. There was no point in wondering these things. There was no point to him being here, in bum fuck Riverside, Iowa. He wasn’t even sure why he’d finally decided to come back. Shaking his head in disgust, Jim turned back to his bike and got on it, determined to ride right out of the state and never look back. There was nothing for him here; there had been nothing here twenty-two years ago, and there would be nothing here twenty-two years from now. 

He put the bike in gear and closed his eyes, feeling the motor purr beneath him. For a fleeting moment, he thought of the red corvette and the freedom he’d experienced while riding it, the wind in his hair and the corn fields blurring together. He wondered if that was what his father had felt every time he’d taken that car out for a spin. He wondered if, had his father lived, he’d have experienced that same thrill or if the ancient car would have stayed a relic, shined but never used, something pretty to look at but not to touch; never to be touched. 

As he sped down the deserted dirt road, Jim could see a beaconing light shining up ahead and like a moth to a flame, he took a turn and sped down the road toward it. He watched as the bar came into view and parked a few yards from it, debating the pros and cons of going in. He really didn’t want to stay in Riverside any longer than he already had, but then again… With a shrug, he kicked the bike into movement and parked it by the side of the building where he hoped it wouldn’t be assaulted by drunken fools. 

He made his way to the bar and watched the people around him, sharp blue eyes taking in the clientele and calculating his odds of getting laid versus those of him coming out of the bar bleeding and owing the bar owner more money than he had to spare. He’d been halfway through his second drink when the bar tender had cocked his head and looked at him funny. Jim had glared right back at him, daring him to say anything, feeling the alcohol pumping through his body and making him itch for a fight.

“I know who you are,” the bartender had finally said, eyes narrowing. “You’re Winona’s boy.”

Jim stiffened. “What’s it to you?” he growled, hand clenching around his glass.

The bartender shrugged. “Last time I saw you, boy, you weren’t taller than this booth.”

Jim grunted and turned his back to the bar, effectively ending the conversation. He watched the patrons come and go and narrowed his eyes when he realized there were a lot of people wearing red uniforms. He turned back toward the bar, mouth open to ask his question when the bartender cut him off.

“Shipyard was finally moved here ‘bout eight years ago. We get a lot of Starfleet ‘round here now,” the bartender shrugged. “’S great for business.”

From his vantage point at the bar, Jim watched the cadets (they had to be cadets, much too young to be anything but green eared cadets) move about the bar, laughing, drinking, dancing. They were all mostly human and they all mostly failed at being interesting, but he saw a few potential fucks in the fray. It was enough to encourage him to down his shot and gesture for the bartender to give him another drink before he ventured into the pack. He flirted with some and he danced with others, and just as he had decided that Starfleet really needed a new promotional poster – because really, this bunch was seriously lacking in anything and everything that would make them remotely successful in any endeavor they undertook – he saw a long black ponytail swish by him and head to the bar. 

He watched the woman move about the room as if she commanded it, touching a person here and waving to another standing across the bar, and he was riveted. He excused himself from the girl he’d been chatting up and made his way to her, listening as she listed drink after drink and… Wow.

“That’s a lot of drinks for one woman,” he heard himself say before he’d even thought about speaking.

“And a shot of Jack, straight up,” she finished, ignoring him.

“Make that two. Her shot’s on me.”

“Her shot’s on her,” she snapped, head turning to glare at him, ponytail swishing back and forth like a cat’s tail. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

He stared at her for a moment, slack jawed and intrigued. It wasn’t often someone said no to a free drink, and it was even less often that a woman said no to him when he offered them a drink. And he wasn’t even sporting bruises. He felt his mouth widen into a grin as he watched her tap her fingernails on the counter, dark eyes furtively glancing his way in obvious annoyance.

“Don’t you at least want to know my name before you completely reject me?” he asked, blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

She raised her hands to her head as she shook it, her ponytail swishing back and forth. “I’m fine without it.”

He pointed his beer at her and nodded her way, as if acknowledging a point. “You _are_ fine without it. It’s Jim,” he said, leaning further into the bar to try and catch her eyes. “Jim Kirk.” He waited a few interminable beats and sighed dramatically. “If you don’t tell me your name, I’m gonna have to make one up,” he exclaimed, hands waving about his head and in obvious despair.

She turned to look at him then and Jim grinned at her expression. He believed the saying went ‘if looks could kill.’ He’d definitely be a dead man. 

“It’s Uhura.” She sounded like someone had dragged that out of her through a sea of glass.

“Uhura? No way!” he yelled, waving his drink and nearly upturning it on the alien sitting between Uhura and him. “That’s the name I was gonna make up for you!” He waited for another silent beat. “Uhura what?” he finally prompted.

“Just Uhura,” she sighed melodramatically.

Jim grinned at her predatorily. “They don’t have last names in your world?”

She looked at him sideways, glaring. “Uhura is my last name,” she drawled.

“Well,” he asked, not missing a beat. “They don’t have first names in your world?”

She shook her head, exasperated, but there was a faint smile tugging at the side of her mouth. Jim grinned triumphantly; he was gaining ground. He liked her. She was feisty and self-assured. It wasn’t often women managed to talk to him without tripping all over themselves, blushing like virgins. He pushed himself off the bar and walked toward Uhura, beer in hand.

“So, you’re a cadet,” he said as he leaned onto the bar in front of her. “You’re studying. What’s your focus?”

“Xenolinguistics. You have no idea what that means,” she sneered, pretty brown eyes flashing dangerously at him.

“The study of alien languages,” Jim drawled, purposefully bringing out the old Midwestern accent he had heard so often from 20th century movies. “Morphology, phonology, syntax…” he trailed off, his smile turning predatory. “It means you’ve got a talented tongue,” he finished, licking his lips as he said it.

She blinked at him and felt her mouth curve into an involuntary smile. “I’m impressed. For a moment there, I thought you were just a dumb hick who only had sex with farm animals.”

He grinned from ear to ear at the quip. “Well,” he said, hand gesturing grandly about him, “not _only_.”

Uhura laughed at that, head tipping back and exposing her long, sensual neck. She turned back to the bar as her shot was placed in front of her.

“This townie bothering you?” a gruff voice asked from behind Jim. He turned around to stare at the huge cadet standing behind him and flanked by three other men. 

“Beyond belief,” Uhura laughed, snagging her shot in hand and turning to the cadet. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle,” she continued, waving her hand dismissively.

“You could handle me,” Jim said, jumping at the opening and leaning in close to her. “And that’s an invitation,” he leered, putting on his most charming smile.

Uhura laughed one more time before tipping her head back and downing the Jack in one shot. She turned to pick up the rest of the drinks, eager to get away from the blond. Jim watched her move and licked his lips unconsciously as his eyes travelled down her body. 

“Hey, you better mind your manners,” the huge cadet ordered taking a menacing step toward Jim. 

“Relax, Cupcake,” Jim said as he slapped the man’s shoulder “It was a joke.”

Jim felt a hand roughly grab his jacket and spin him around to face the angry looking cadet. “Hey farm boy,” Cupcake said, taking a step forward and pushing Jim back against the bar. “Maybe you can’t count, but there are four of us, and one of you.”

Jim glared at him and took a step forward, staring the man down. “So get some more guys and then it’ll be an even fight,” Jim drawled, slapping the man’s cheek and turning back around to Uhura.

There was a hand on his shoulder once more, and enough force turning him around that Jim knew what was about to happen. The next minute was all adrenaline and instinct, ducking and punching and grabbing and swinging, hoping he could hit with enough force to knock the cadets down without being turned into an impromptu punching bag. For a few seconds, he thought he could take these guys, but then a sudden punch to his face had him turned around and he lost his footing, crashing to the ground, head spinning and vision swimming. 

He felt more hands grab at his back and pulling him off the floor. He was slammed into a table, the sides digging into the back of his legs as his back screamed in protest. Before he could raise his arms he was punched over and over, head snapping back as the blood flew about him and dripped down his throat, upsetting his stomach. Just as he thought he was really fucked, a loud whistle reverberated throughout the bar, stopping the fist pummeling into him in midair. The cadet holding Jim’s jacket dropped him like he was on fire as he snapped at attention.

“Outside, all of you.”

Jim watched the figure of a man in his mid-forties order the cadets about and licked his lips as they split open with his smile. “You can whistle really loud, you know?” he mumbled, closing his eyes against the sudden nausea and dizziness as blood continued to drip down his throat. Through lidded eyes, he saw the man looking at him, head cocking to the side much like the bartender had a few hours ago, considering him. Jim let him look his fill for about two seconds before he snorted and flipped himself off the table, knees wobbling as his feet hit the ground. 

“Well,” he sniffed, dragging his leather jacket across his bloody face. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna go–”

“Let me buy you a beer,” the officer offered, blue eyes still staring at him.

Jim shrugged and waved his hand in the air as he turned around and headed toward the bathroom. Who was he to turn down free beer?

****

“You look just like him,” Pike said as soon as Jim took his first swing of the beer. 

The reaction was automatic: Jim’s eyes narrowed, sky blue eyes turning to steel as he paused, glass still at his mouth but no longer drinking. Pike watched him, waiting to see what would come next. From what he’d been able to gather from the bartender, Jimmy Kirk had had quite the childhood and it was a miracle he was even in town. Pike wholeheartedly believed in miracles. He waited as Jim stared him down and then took another gulp of the beer before slowly bringing the glass back down.

“Of course,” he continued when no answer was forthcoming, “you look a lot like your mother, too.”

“Well,” the kid purred, tongue licking blood and chapped lips, “that’s a first.”

“You know, I couldn’t believe it when the bartender told me who you were.”

“And who am I, Captain Pike?”

Pike smiled at the tone, defiant and cocky, and full of danger. Of course, two could play that game.

“Your father’s son,” he replied, barring his teeth. 

He watched as Jim’s lips pursed and his face closed. Jim looked at him for another moment before he turned around and waved his glass at the bartender, asking for another round. Well, that was an interesting reaction.

“For my dissertation I was assigned the _USS Kelvin_. Something I admired about your dad: he didn’t believe in no-win scenarios,” Pike commented, watching, waiting to see what kind of reaction he could get out of the kid. If he was anything like his parents…

Kirk let out a chortled laughed and took out the bloody strip of Kleenexes from his nose, looked at them and wiped his face one more time before throwing them out. 

“Sure learned his lesson,” the kid mumbled, eyes looking everywhere but at Pike.

“Well, it depends on how you define winning. You’re here, aren’t you?” Pike challenged. 

Jim stared at him, and saw his mother sleeping on one side of the bed, hand splayed out and resting where his father should have been. He saw Sam sitting in the corvette, hands gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as his right eye swelled and turned purple, staring straight ahead and pretending he couldn’t hear Frank screaming and trashing in the house. He saw Frank’s fist coming at him over and over again as he smiled, thinking about the trashed car and how Frank would never get his hands on it now. He thought about Tarsus and Tommy and Kevin and the corpses rotting in the river. He thought about himself, drifting from dead-end job to dead-end job without direction, looking at the stars and wondering what was so special about them anyway that his mother preferred to be up there over down here. 

He looked at Pike and snorted, thanking the bartender as another beer was placed in front of him. No-win scenarios… His whole life was a string of no-win scenarios and Jim believed in them and the futility of trying to escape them as much as his father hadn’t. 

He took another gulp of the beer and let Pike’s speech wash over him, refusing to let the man get to him as he brought up his juvie record and that damn aptitude test he’d decided to take because he’d been bored and drunk; he’d known that thing would come back to bite him in the ass. He rolled his eyes as the captain expounded on his career track and a ship and—

_Mommy, look!_

_That’s the Milky Way, Jimmy. That’s our galaxy._

_Our galaxy? There are more of them out there?_

_Tons more. So many more._

_Will I ever be able to see them?_

_One day, Jimmy, if you study hard and if you’re a good boy, one day you’ll have your own ship and all you’ll need is to pick a star to steer her by._

“Are we done?” Jim bit off as he burned at the unwanted memory.

Pike stared at him for a moment longer before nodding. “I’m done.”

Jim rolled his eyes at the bitter tone and nodded, staring down at his beer and refusing to look as the captain got up. “Riverside shipyard. Shuttle for new recruits leaves tomorrow, 0800,” Pike said, leaning and staring at him so hard Jim had no other choice but to look up at him. Jim smirked and chugged down the rest of his beer, saluting him with the empty glass.

“Your father was captain of a starship for 12 minutes,” Pike said after a moment of silence, his voice low as if he was telling him a secret. Jim looked away, bored and annoyed. 

_Jimmy…_

“He saved 800 lives, include your mother’s.” 

_Will you promise me something, sweetie?_

“And yours.”

_Don’t ever stop, Jim. No matter what happens, no matter what people say, no matter what, never stop._

At that, Jim looked at him, bracing himself for what would come next.

_Always boldly go where no man has gone before and carve out your own way._

“I dare you to do better.”


	5. Leonard "Bones" McCoy

_“I might throw up on you.”_

Truer words had rarely been spoken. By the time the shuttle had landed at Starfleet Academy, Kirk was the new owner of a McCoy vomit infused outfit with a smattering of bile on his shoes. It wasn’t the most disgusting thing he’d ever had on his person (very few things could beat the nightmare that had been Tarsus IV) but it came close. So close that by the time they left the shuttle he’d roped the good doctor into taking him out shopping and for a drink at the first bar they could agree on. 

That had been six months ago and since then Kirk and McCoy had begun to forge an unlikely friendship. First, it had been a room to hide out in when Kirk’s roommate had come back drunk and with a giggling girl hanging from his arms, the two of them staggering toward his roommate’s bed but ending up in Kirk’s while he stared at them from his desk, PADDs scattered about him as he tried to finish his work for the next day. Then it had been shared drinks after a bad shift at the hospital where McCoy had had to treat a bunch of ‘ _goddamn idiots Jim, all of them! I swear to God their mothers must have dropped them on their heads when they were babies_ ’ cadets. Then it had been a quick fix after a particularly bad bar fight after Kirk had had to stand at attention at the front of the auditorium as Starfleet honored the dead of the _USS Kelvin_. Then it had been a soothing hand rubbing McCoy’s back as he prayed to the porcelain god after he’d wished his daughter a happy birthday and had had to endure her crying and shouting, screaming that Leonard didn’t love her and had abandoned her. After all, why else would he be on the other side of the country if that weren’t the case?

So it came to be that Jim found himself in McCoy’s dorm room at the end of the semester after final exams, sitting on the desk chair and staring at the wall in shock. 

“I feel violated,” Jim said, eyes still staring at the wall.

“Hmm?” McCoy mumbled as he stared under his bed, his hand patting the floor in search of something.

“I think that exam mind raped me. I think I was actually, like, mentally violated. Bones. Bones,” Jim whispered, bright blue eyes staring feverishly at McCoy. “I think Commodore Louis tried to steal my brain.”

“Okay, kid,” McCoy grumbled as he stared at Jim with wide eyes. “First off, do not call me that. We’ve had this discussion already. Second, for god’s sake, snap out of it.” And with that, McCoy snapped his finger in front of Kirk’s face, causing the other man to flinch back. “You back to with me, kid?”

Kirk blinked a few times. “Uh, yeah. I think so,” he replied, one hand carding through his hair.

“Good. Now, tell me what the weather’s like in Iowa this time of the year,” McCoy said as he bent down by the bed once again and resumed his search.

“Excuse me?” Jim asked, staring at his friend incredulously. “Why would you possibly want to know that information?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” McCoy asked as he pulled out a few pair of shoes and a used wrapper from under the bed. “You’re taking me home to meet the parents for Christmas.”

“I… I am?” Kirk asked, dumbfounded.

“’Course you are. Didn’t your momma teach you any manners?” Jim glared as McCoy smiled devilishly. “Come on, Kirk. The dorms are closed over the break, and I have nowhere to be until after Christmas. The least you could do is put me up at your house and introduce me to the famous Mrs. Kirk,” McCoy said.

Kirk glared at the man before looking away, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s Mrs. Henke, now,” Kirk grumbled, glaring at the wall above McCoy’s head. “And who said that I was going back, anyway?”

McCoy stopped what he was doing and looked up to stare at the man who was fast becoming one of the best friends he’d ever had. “If you weren’t going back, what were you going to do? I’m pretty much game for anything,” McCoy shrugged.

Kirk sighed and uncrossed his arms, gripping his thighs instead and shifting his gaze to the floor. “No, it’s fine. I guess…” He licked his lips, a nervous habit McCoy had picked up on. “I guess we can go spend a few days at the farm. It’s… Yeah… Okay.” 

McCoy watched silently as Kirk took a deep breath and stood up, eyes that eerie shade of blue. “Look, kid, if it’s too much of a hassle–”

Kirk shook his head. “No, no. It’s fine. Let me just make a phone call and I’ll get back to you.”

And with that, Kirk was out the door in three quick strides.

***

McCoy stood at the end of the driveway and looked around himself, taking in the old, wooden house surrounded by endless fields that, come spring, would be colored in gold and green. The farmhouse was pretty much what he had expected it to be. It wasn’t hard to picture a young Jim Kirk running from the house to the barn and getting himself lost amidst the corn and wheat fields. It was easy to see Kirk taking off on his bike and riding on forever before he saw another soul, and only coming back long after the sun had set with only the stars to guide his way home. And yet, there was no way Kirk had stayed there past his teen years. Despite the open sky and the horizon that stretched on forever, it was confining. 

It wasn’t the stars.

McCoy watched as Kirk stood by the side of the road, staring at the house as if it were haunted. He was clutching his duffle bag so hard his knuckled were turning white. Or maybe that was from the cold.

“Oy,” he called out to the blond, snapping him to attention. “Mind if we get the fuck out of this cold?”

McCoy grinned inwardly as he saw a smirk come over Kirk’s lips.

“Aww,” the blond teased, “is the Georgian princess not able to handle the heat?”

“I can handle the heat just fine,” McCoy grumbled, “it’s the cold that I can’t stand.”

He let a small smile spread across his lips as Kirk burst out laughing and finally made his way to McCoy, grabbing his elbow and pulling him toward the front door. Once there, he paused, staring at the chipped, green paint. There was something in his gaze that McCoy couldn’t place, but before he could even formulate a question Kirk had raised his hand and knocked three times. They waited in silence, Kirk staring at the door with that look back in his eyes, and McCoy staring at him and trying not to wonder if this was such a good idea after all. He’d just opened his mouth to say something – anything – when the door suddenly lurched opened. 

The man at the door was tall, taller than McCoy, and the flannel shirt did nothing to cover the width of his shoulder and the muscles bunching in his arms. He stood there, speechless, staring at Kirk as if he were seeing a ghost. 

“Jim…”

Kirk shifted his weight from one foot to another, hands tightening around the strap of the duffle bag. “Frank.”

“What–”

“Mind if we come in? Get out of the cold?” Kirk cut him off, gesturing at McCoy with his head.

Wordlessly the man stepped aside and Kirk brushed past him and into the house, shoulders hunched in an unhappy line and eyes staring straight ahead. McCoy gave the stunned man a small smile and followed Kirk inside, glad to be out of the cold. 

“Jim,” Frank started but was interrupted by a noise from the room beyond the hallway.

“Frank, who’s that at the door?”

If possible, Kirk seemed to hunch down even further, and even though McCoy was staring at his back, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see his jaw locked tight and his hands turning even whiter from the grip he had on the strap. It was a wonder his fingers hadn't fallen off from the lack of blood circulation by that point. But McCoy was more focused on the doorway and the shadow moving closer than he was on Kirk. He watched as Winona Kirk – or Henke, as Jim had told him back at the dorms – turned the corner and stopped dead in her tracks as she took the sight in front of her. Her face froze in the same expression as Frank’s, blue eyes comically wide as she stared at the man standing in her house as if he were a ghost. Her blonde hair was up in a sloppy bun, wisps of it falling around her tired looking face. She was dressed in a plain white shirt and loose jeans, sock clad feet completing the tableau of domesticity.

She took a small step toward Kirk and stopped, eyes unblinking. 

“James? Is that… Is that really…?”

Kirk looked at her briefly then turned his face sideways to stare at the wall. “Hi, Mom,” he mumbled.

“Jim,” Winona breathed, her shoulders relaxing so quickly McCoy thought she was going to faint. “You’re–”

“This is Leonard McCoy,” Kirk interrupted, gesturing at McCoy. “He’s a friend of mine from the Academy. The…” Kirk hesitated for a moment, glancing in his mother’s direction briefly before returning his gaze to the wall. “The dorms close over the break and he wanted to come visit Iowa. I…” he licked his lips nervously. “Is it…?”

“Yes,” Winona breathed, her hands clasped together in front of her as tightly as Kirk’s hands were on his duffle bag. “Of course it is,” she continued. 

Kirk nodded once, still not looking at his mother or the man who had moved to stand next to her. McCoy looked from one person to the other, wondering once again if this had possibly been the stupidest idea he had ever had, and why in the world Kirk hadn’t taken the out McCoy had given him to stay put in San Francisco. But even as he squirmed from the thick, tense atmosphere that had settled over them, he couldn’t help but notice the dynamics playing between the family members. Kirk was still staring at the wall, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, and his entire body held so tightly that he looked as if any little thing would snap his control. In contrast, Winona stood stock still, hands wringing together as she stared desperately at her son, her mouth opening and closing as if she were trying to say something but not sure what. And Frank… Frank had stepped back to stand behind his wife, one hand curled loosely at his side and the other at the small of her back, giving her silent support. But where Winona was staring at her son so intensely that it seemed as if she were willing him to look at her, Frank was looking at everything but Kirk and McCoy; as if he’d rather be anywhere but there. 

Even as he took that in, McCoy let his southern upbringing take over. He stepped up next to Kirk, held out his hand to Winona, and smiled politely. “It’s good to finally meet you, Mrs. Henke.”

Winona started at this, gaze quickly shifting to McCoy and smiling sadly even as she reached out to shake the offered hand. “It’s Miss Donnevan, actually,” she said.

That seemed to be enough to snap Kirk out of his funk as he whirled around to face his mother, suspicion and surprise painted all over his face. “What?”

“Why don’t you two come in, sit down,” Winona said as she pulled McCoy by the hand she was still holding. “I’ll get you two something to drink. Water? Beer?”

“I… Water’s fine, ma’am,” McCoy said even as he held his arms out to keep his balance. Winona was stronger than she looked.

“Mom…”

“Jim, please. There’s a lot we have to talk about.” 

Kirk spared a quick look at Frank before he nodded and followed McCoy further into the house. He could hear his mom and Frank arguing quietly behind him but he ignored them in favor of taking in the state of a house he hadn’t stepped foot in for almost a decade. Some things were the same: the family pictures hanging on the wall, the pencil marks on the doorway where Winona had diligently recorded their growth spurts (at least up until she had married Frank and had gone out into space again), and the small, dark brown bookshelf, now a few feet shorter than him. He stopped dead in front of it and stared at the books there. 

Most of them were old and dusty, the covers decrepit and falling off after so many centuries. They were the same books he had found that morning after he’d tumbled off the older, bigger bookshelf in his quest for knowledge. They were his father’s books; they were _his_. He crouched down and reverently ran his fingers over the spines, smiling softly as he pulled out one in particular and traced the cover with his fingers. Still holding on to it, he let his eyes wander over the collection, cataloging the new additions and noticing some missing titles. He frowned at that. 

“James.”

The sound of his name made him stand up and turn around to face his mother and Frank as they came into the living room, his mother holding a tray with cups of tea and water. He watched her silently as she put it down on the coffee table but made no move to come any closer to him. He didn’t know how he felt about that.

“What’s…” He cleared his throat. “What’s with the change?” he asked, pointing to the books behind him but not letting go of the one he still held.

“I’m having them rebound,” she answered. Kirk could feel his eyes widen at that. He hadn’t been expecting that answer. “The Lord of the Rings and Golden Compass series were about to fall apart.” 

“That would have been a shame,” he replied before he could stop himself.

“Yes,” she answered as she moved to sit down, a small smile playing on her lips. “It would have.”

Kirk hesitated for a second before moving to sit down next to McCoy, placing the book he still held on the table.

“Peter Pan,” his mother said as she looked down at the book. “It always was your favorite.”

Kirk didn’t reply, blue eyes looking from his mother to the man sitting in the chair across from her. He could feel McCoy sitting uncomfortably next to him, shifting slightly from side to side as the tension in the room became stifling. Kirk felt bad for the doctor, who probably only had wanted to see Kirk’s hometown out of simple curiosity and for no other reason than because neither had anywhere else to be or anything else to do. 

“So,” Kirk finally said after it became clear to him that his mother was letting him set the pace. “Donnevan?”

Winona and Frank glanced at each other before Winona shifted forward, entwining her fingers together and resting her elbows on her knees. “Frank and I divorced shortly after…” She paused, glancing at McCoy uncertainly.

Jim tensed at the gesture. Well then… Might as well go for broke. He nodded his head once at his mother.

Winona took in a deep breath and let it out on a soft sigh. “After you ran away,” she finished.

“That was seven year ago,” Jim said, cutting off McCoy before the man could even open his mouth to ask anything.

“And I would have told you sooner if you’d bothered to let me know where you were,” his mother said matter-of-factly. There was no accusation or reproach in her voice, but Kirk bristled anyway. 

“I didn’t have any reason to call.”

“Jim–”

“No,” he cut her off. “Don’t you ‘Jim’ me. You have… You gave up that right when you buzzed off to space and left me and Sam with _him_ ,” Jim said, his voice rising as he pointed an accusing finger at Frank. “And now I find out you’re divorced, but that you’re still with him?” 

“Jim, it’s not like that. Frank’s not… Frank hasn’t lived here since the divorce.”

“Well, if he’s spending Christmas with you, the divorce can’t have been very inimical. Care to enlighten me on what brought it about? Seems to me you’re still pretty cozy with each other,” Kirk said, practically snarling at his mother.

“We fought over you.” Kirk started at that, looking at Frank for the first time since he’d stepped into the house. “We… _I'm_ the one who sent you away, Jim. And then, well, you know,” Frank stammered, gesturing his hand vaguely as if that explained everything; and strangely enough, it did. “You came back, and you… And your mother and I … I told her. I told her everything that had happened that day, and every day before that, and we couldn’t…”

“You felt _guilty_?” Jim snapped. “Is that what it was about? Guilt?” Jim could feel his face becoming red and adrenaline beginning to pump through his veins as his flight or fight response kicked in. “You told her the truth, and then you couldn’t stand the sight of each other anymore because you felt guilty? Because _you_ beat me to a pulp and then shipped me off-planet,” he accused, pointing a finger at Frank, “and because _you_ never fucking even _bothered_ to ask me _what the hell had happened_ and listened to _him_ instead of _me_?” he asked, turning to his mother. He felt McCoy tense next to him, but he couldn’t be bothered to spare him a thought.

“Jim, honey–”

“No! This is _bullshit_!” Jim shouted as he stood up, fists clenched tightly. “You know what he did to me, to Sam, to _us_ , and you still let him come in _here_ , in this _house_?”

“Jim, listen–”

“What? Like you did, mom?” Jim snarled.

“James, I’m sorry,” Frank said, standing up and looking straight at the man radiating barely contained fury. “I’m so–”

“You’re–” Kirk choked on a laugh, a bitter and incredulous sound. “You’re _sorry_?”

“Jim–”

“No,” he said, voice calm and deadly. “I’ve heard enough.”

Kirk walked around the table and into the hallway, opening and slamming the door shut so hard it rattled in the door frame. He stood for a moment in the stillness of the night air, eyes closed and chest heaving as adrenaline continued to pump in his body. With barely controlled fury, he slammed the side of his fist into the wall and made his way to the barn where he knew his mother would keep any and all ground transportation. Standing by the open door, he let his eyes adjust to the darkness and grinned wickedly when he spotted the bike resting by the wall. 

Perfect. 

***

The bar was exactly the sort of place he liked to frequent: loud, dark, and filled with people who couldn't give a shit. With the strobe lights and the small dance floor packed with intoxicated people gyrating to the music, it was the perfect place to get lost in. He was on his fourth beer since he'd gotten there on his mother's bike and had had to fend off as many proposals from men, women, and aliens. The bartender kept sending him the stink-eye, which Jim couldn't blame him for, considering all the broken chairs and tables that had had to be added to his tab. Not that those had been his fault.

A heavy hand suddenly came down on his shoulder and without thinking he grabbed the person's wrist and did a roundabout as he pulled that same arm back and up and bore down on the person's back with his elbow, holding the man's face on the bar stand. He heard a soft grunt followed by a groan and cursing. 

He licked his lips, grinning wildly as he applied more pressure. “Come on,” he growled, leaning down close to the man's ear.

“Goddamn it, Kirk, lemme up!” the man grunted as he kicked his leg out and hit Kirk in the shin. Startled, Kirk let the man go and stepped back, watching as McCoy pulled himself off the bar stand, rubbing his shoulder. “Damn it, man. What's gotten into you?”

“You startled me, you fucker,” Kirk griped back. 

“And that's how you respond whenever someone touches you without warning? You try to rip their arm out?” McCoy grumbled as he leaned back against the bar.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew they'd been a mistake. He could see Kirk's face shuttering closed even as he leaned forward to grab his discarded beer. He made a move toward Kirk and wasn't surprised when he was shoved back into an empty barstool. He let himself sit down, his shoulder throbbing and burning in time with his heartbeat.

“Kirk, I'm–”

“Fuck off, McCoy,” Kirk grumbled as he titled his head back and took a drag of the beer. 

“Kirk–”

“I said, _fuck off_!” Kirk yelled as he turned around to face the man.

“Jim, please,” McCoy whispered, hand hovering over Jim's forearm.

Kirk stared at him silently before gesturing at the bartender, who grumbled something inaudible under his breath before snagging Kirk's credit chip and flinging it onto the counter, where Kirk grabbed it and stood up. He chugged the rest of his beer and moved away from the bar and toward the exit. He could feel McCoy following close behind him but didn't bother to turn around. If the man wasn't by his side by the time Kirk reached the bike, he'd just leave him behind and go... Go some place that wasn't here, that wasn't the farm, that wasn't Iowa. Some place where he could forget the clusterfuck that had been his life. The cold night air felt good against his overheated skin and he stopped a few feet from the door, eyes closed and head tilted back as the alcohol buzzed in his veins. That time, when a hand closed over his shoulder he only blinked his eyes open and turned around to see McCoy watching him carefully, a scowl forming on his face. 

“Jim, what the hell did you do?” McCoy demanded as he pulled the shorter man toward one of the overhead lights peppered around the bar.

“Me? Nothing!” Kirk said defensively as he jerked his arm out of McCoy's grip. “I was minding my own business when this jackass fell on my fist.”

“Uh huh,” McCoy said, grabbing Kirk's chin and manipulating it to see the blossoming bruises, ignoring the younger man's weak attempts at pulling himself free. “And let me guess. Then you lost your balance and fell onto his fist... how many times?”

“Hmm... Three? I’m not really sure. I was pretty drunk.”

“You mean, you are pretty drunk,” McCoy corrected.

“No, I'm tipsy,” Kirk replied.

“Right. Where else are you hurt?” McCoy asked as he tried to manhandle Kirk further into the lamplight.

“I'm fine, Bones. Get off me,” Kirk said as he finally managed to pry himself out of McCoy's grip.

“Damn it, Kirk, what have I told you about calling me that?” McCoy grumbled as he reached back towards the blond.

“But it suits you,” Kirk whined.

“It does not. Now hold. Still.” McCoy grunted when Kirk slapped his hand away.

“No. God, you're like a mother hen. Leave me alone, Bones,” Kirk grumbled.

“No. And stop calling me that.”

“If I stop calling you that, will you leave me alone?” Kirk quipped.

“Considering the amount of times I've had to patch you up in the last few months? Unlikely,” McCoy shot back.

“Then I guess I'll keep calling you Bones.”

“You do that and the next time you need to be treated for something I'll make sure you'll be a very unhappy camper.”

“I love your bedside manners, Bones. It warms me up deep inside,” Kirk said, a grin spreading over his split lip.

“For the love of–” Bones grumbled. “Fine, whatever. Hemorrhage for all I care.”

“I think I will,” Kirk said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Fine,” McCoy bit out angrily.

“Fine,” Kirk said smugly.

There was a moment of silence between them as they glared at each other. It was broken when McCoy let out a small sigh and raked his hand through his hair, his gaze shifting from Kirk to the dingy concrete floor. Kirk watched him wearily, and he knew that whatever McCoy was planning on telling him next, he did not want to hear.

“I–”

“How'd you find me anyway?” Kirk interrupted.

McCoy blinked at that, the question derailing his thoughts. “I... Your... Your mom's bike,” he finally stammered, pointing at the bike in question leaning against the wall. “It has a GPS tracking system. All of your mom's vehicles do, actually,” McCoy explained. “She lent me her tracker and her car and I just... followed the yellow brick road.”

Kirk stared at him for a moment before an incredulous laugh worked its way out of his mouth. “You're a riot and a half, Bones,” Kirk managed to say between chuckles.

“Whatever. Stop calling me that, kid,” McCoy grumbled half-heartedly. He took another breath and looked Kirk straight in the eye. “I talked to your mom after you stormed off.”

Kirk's reaction was instantaneous. It was like a shutter being closed; one minute the room was basked in sunshine and brightness and the next it was dark and impenetrable. McCoy could see Kirk's hand clenching at his side even as the man turned his face away, trying to hide his emotions in the shadows created by the lamplight. McCoy hadn't been expecting any different. The trick, however, was going to be to make Kirk _listen_ to him and what he had to say. In a preemptive move, he stepped forward and crowded Kirk's space, forcing him to back up until he was flush against the lamp post. It wasn't as effective as if he'd been backed up against a wall, but it'd have to do for now.

“Jim, look at me,” he said as he grabbed Kirk's biceps. “This is important.”

“I don't want to hear it.”

“Jim, she's sorry,” McCoy went on as if Kirk hadn't said anything. “She knows she was wrong. And she knows... she knows you'll never forgive her. But,” McCoy swallowed when his voice cracked. “She just wants you to talk to her,” he whispered.

“She doesn't deserve it,” Kirk replied, still not looking at McCoy.

“Jim...”

“She _abandoned_ me, Bones! She left Sam and me with that... that _thing_ she calls a husband! Oh, I'm sorry,” Kirk amended when he saw McCoy opening his mouth. “ _Called_ a husband. But that doesn't change anything. She wasn't there. She _wasn't there_ , Bones! And she...” Kirk paused, panting, and swallowing the lump in his throat. “She was supposed to be,” he whispered.

McCoy sighed softly. “She knows that, Jim. And she's–”

“Why are you defending her?” Kirk bit out angrily as he turned to glare at McCoy. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

“I _am_ on your side,” McCoy replied, tightening his grip on Kirk's biceps.

“Then why are you–”

“I am _not_ defending her, Jim,” McCoy stressed. “I just... I understand–”

“You _understand_?” Kirk yelled incredulously.

“Goddamn it, Jim! I have a child, too, remember?” McCoy shouted, gripping Kirk's biceps so hard Kirk was sure he'd leave bruises. “I know what she's feeling because... Because I...”

“It's not the same, Bones,” Jim interrupted him.

“Yes, it is,” McCoy said.

“No, it's _not_. You didn't leave Joanna with an abusive asshole, Bones! You left her with her _mom_ ,” Jim replied back, exasperated.

“Jim, she made a mistake,” McCoy whispered.

“Stop it.”

“She married someone she thought she could trust,” McCoy continued as if Kirk hadn't said a word.

“Stop it,” Kirk said more forcefully.

“She didn't know how he was. She didn't _see_ it. And then Starfleet called her back and she–”

“ _Stop it!_ ” Jim yelled, jerking his right arm downward and breaking McCoy's hold on it.

“There's no excuse for it, Jim,” McCoy said, his hand going back to Kirk’s bicep in a flash and tightening his hold on it. “She's not trying to make any excuses for it. But she made a mistake, and it's cost her her sons. Sam’s gone off somewhere not even Starfleet knows, but you’re still here, Jim. She just wants you back. That's all she wants. Another chance at getting you back.”

“I don't want to hear it.”

“Jim–”

“No, Leonard.” McCoy stopped cold at the sound of his first name; Kirk used it so rarely that when he did, McCoy knew it was a lost cause. “I can't. Not now, and I doubt I ever will.”

“Okay, Jim,” McCoy said, defeated. “Okay.”

“Can we... Can we get out of here? Just...” Kirk waved his right hand around in a vague gesture.

“Yeah. How does Christmas in New Orleans sound?” McCoy replied as he pulled the younger man with him toward the car.

“Historical French Quarters?” Jim asked hopefully. 

“I guess I could let you wander around without a chaperon, seeing as it's not Mardi Gras. But just for one night. And if you're not back by late morning, I'll come drag you out and give you so many hypos you'll be black and blue for weeks,” McCoy grumbled.

“Thanks, Dad,” Jim griped, but McCoy could tell it was half-hearted.

“Come on, then. Let's go rent a car and I'll let your mom know where all her vehicles are so she can collect them later.”

Kirk nodded and silently followed McCoy back to his mom's hovercar. He got in on the passenger's side and stared out the window as McCoy started the car and made his way down the empty dirt road in the direction of the town. They were both silent for awhile, the sound of crushed gravel the only noise filling the car as McCoy stared at the darkness and Kirk stared at the stars through the window. 

“Hey, Bones,” Kirk said softly, never taking his gaze off of the millions of pinpricks in the night sky.

“Yeah, kid?”

“What about Joanna?” Jim asked.

“What about Jojo?”

“Aren't you going to see her?”

“Yep.” 

Kirk blinked at that, the grin very clear in McCoy's tone of voice. “Oh?”

“I get her after Christmas. And you and I are taking her to Disney World.”

Kirk gaped at his friend. “What? Since when?” Kirk demanded.

“Since she told me so. And you, my friend, will be taking her on all the rides she asks while I watch from the sidelines,” McCoy said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

“What?!” Kirk did not squeak. “And why would I do that?”

“Because you've earned the honorary title of Uncle Jim, and that's what uncles do.”

Kirk huffed in the passenger seat and crossed his arms in a clear sign that radiated his pissiness. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But don't expect me to go willingly.”

McCoy barked out a short laugh and patted Kirk on the thigh. “Oh, Jim-boy. You have no idea.” 

And in an uncharacteristic move, Kirk decided to leave it at that and turned back to stare at the familiar star painted sky of his youth.


	6. Spock

The room was dark and quiet around him, the consoles shut off and the view screen blank. Where a few hours ago the room had been a cacophony of panicked orders barked in desperate succession, now it was a calm and tranquil area. Where before he had been seated in the command chair, watching as the view screens showed the systematic destruction of his ship and the one he was supposed to have rescued, now he saw nothing but dormant controls. Where he had once watched his failure painted in the bright lights of explosions and the desperate screams of his command crew, he now sat in total silence, the only light coming from the green emergency exit above the door.

He'd known, coming into it, that the test was unbeatable. What self-respecting command-track cadet hadn't heard a nightmarish story or two about an upperclassman's experience with the _Kobayashi Maru_? But he'd been cocky. He'd been sure he wouldn't be like the rest of them, that he'd beat it, that he'd go against the best software ever to have been designed and that he would be the one to finally find the loophole that would let him beat the test. 

But he hadn't.

Instead, he'd watched as the Klingon warbirds fired at his ship, first taking out the deflector shields, then evading his attacks, until finally his weapons banks were destroyed and he'd been forced to issue General Order 13: shipwide evacuation. And in a last ditch attempt, because if he was going down then he was going to take at least one of those fuckers with him, he'd tried to engage the autopilot on a collision course with what he'd assumed to be the leader of the ships. He'd hit the final command code to engage the ship and as he stood up to join the rest of his command crew to the simulated shuttles, the computer announced its dying message: _// sys_alert: Manual Override Only_.

He'd frozen. 

When he was seventeen, in a bout of anger and teenage rebellion, he'd hacked into any and all databases that had contained information regarding his father and the circumstances surrounding his birth. He'd read Chris Pike's thesis and heard the voice recording of the last few seconds of his father's life (and promptly thrown up afterwards), and he'd read the last of the ship’s logs, the “black box”. So he'd known that his father had stayed on the ship because the system had crashed and all operations had gone to manual. 

The fact that his father had traded his life for 800 others was immaterial. The fact that his mother was among the 800 saved was irrelevant. The fact he had been saved was inconsequential. The truth, no matter how Pike tried to spin it, was that his father had died, and 800 people had lived because of him. The truth was that his father had faced a no-win scenario and had lost. The truth was that there were such things as no-win scenarios, and no amount of brains would ever change that; no amount of willpower could ever change that. 

Tarsus IV had taught him that.

A small noise from behind him startled him and on instinct he ordered the lights to fifty percent even as he swiveled the chair to face the door by the communications unit. He relaxed slightly when the red on green on red form stepped forward from the shadows; red hair against green skin against a red cadet uniform. 

“Gaila,” he said, turning the chair back to the front view screen.

“Hi, Jim,” she replied. He could hear the heels of her boots hitting the simulation deck and wondered if those were regulation heels or if Gaila was toeing the line again.

He let her greeting go unanswered, choosing instead to continue his quiet contemplation of the blank view screen and the sequence of events that had lead him to be sitting there in the dark so many hours after the end of the test.

“Leonard told me where you were, in case you’re wondering how I managed to find you,” she chirped as she stopped to stand by his right shoulder. “Not that I haven’t thought about installing a locator beacon on you. It’d make my life easier, and I’m sure Leonard would help me with the surgery.”

“Yeah,” Jim replied absentmindedly. “I’m sure he’d love that.”

There was a beat of silence before Gaila took the extra step to bring her next to him. She placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. 

“Why are you here, Jim?”

“Did you know that I’ve been able to hack into governmental servers since I was fifteen?” he asked her as he leaned to his left to dislodge her hand from his shoulder and rest his chin on his closed fist.

“Is that so?” she asked as she let her hand fall to her side.

“I failed the test, Gaila.” 

It was a rhetorical statement and they both knew it. Even though the test had never been beaten, every command track cadet knew that the point of it was to judge your reaction when under the most extreme types of pressure. It was designed to evaluate a cadet’s use of all the resources he had access to and his command decisions in life or death situations. The point wasn’t to win, but to show the admiralty that you were ready for command; that you could be counted on to make the difficult decisions and that if need be you would carry them to the end. The test, Kirk knew, was a way for the admiralty to judge what you had learned and to see if you were ready for combat. 

And Kirk had frozen. 

Gaila stood silently next to him, forcing her hand to stay by her side and not reach out to Kirk in some form of physical comfort. She knew that’s not what he needed or wanted at the moment. Instead she let the silence linger on, watching as Kirk’s frown turned into a glare as he continued to stare at the blank view screen, replaying the sequence of events that had lead to the message’s appearance. As a science-track cadet specializing in software encryption and engineering, Gaila had been assigned to the _Maru_ as an aid to the instructors who controlled the test’s environment. She’d seen the instructors change the test to adapt it to each cadet’s particular skills and reactions, and had seen every type of ending to the test imaginable. But it had been the first time she had seen the instructors command a system wide failure of the auto pilot. And there hadn’t been a single cadet or instructor present in that room that hadn’t known why Kirk had frozen in his tracks.

“They recreated the destruction of the _Kelvin_.”

She chewed her bottom lip for a second before sighing softly. “Yes.”

“They wanted me to die like my father did.”

“Jim,” she started, but stopped, unsure what it was she wanted to tell him.

“I’m not an idiot Gaila,” Jim said as he turned the chair around so he could face her. “I know what people say about me. That I’m arrogant, that I think I’m invincible.” Jim scoffed. “I’m not. I know that I’m not.”

“Jim, I know that–”

“I’m taking it again,” Jim said resolutely. “I’m taking it again and next time, I won’t freeze. I won’t let them win. I’ll find that loophole.”

“There is no loophole Jim. You _know_ that. You’ve seen the code,” Gaila said.

Jim shook his head and stood up, stretching his back and plastering on a smile. “There’s always a loophole, Gaila.”

“Jim, you can’t beat it. It’s a perfect code.” 

“There’s no such thing as perfection,” Jim said flippantly as he got up from the chair and made his way to the exit sign.

Gaila sighed softly as she watched him leave and shook her head. “Arrogant little ass.” She paused briefly and cocked her head to the side, a small smile spreading over her lips. “But it is a nice ass…”

***

McCoy could feel his blood pressure rising with each passing ring. He’d been up since the crack of dawn for his double shift and had performed more surgeries than he cared to remember, but he’d kept his comm on for a long as he could, hoping that Jim would call him as soon as the test was done. He had no great expectations that the kid would actually do as he had been asked, but McCoy was a secret optimist (how else could he have put up with Jim Kirk for as long as he had if he wasn’t?), but he was also a realist. The kid was going to fail the test again, and when he did, all McCoy could hope for was that he’d be invited to the bar where Jim was sure to get shitfaced. 

But it was now late evening, and there had been no sign that the prodigal son would be returning any time soon. He’d commed Gaila earlier in the evening but she hadn’t seen Jim since before the test, and she’d already gone looking for him in all the usual haunts with no luck. So now here he was, comm unit open and trying to connect to Jim’s while he made his way to the small beach where he knew Jim liked to go to run. He just hoped he’d have more luck locating the idiot. 

As he made his way around the bend, he could spot a figure sitting in the sand and he sighed in relief. He broke into a light jog until he’d almost reached Kirk and then slowed to a walk. Once he was next to him, McCoy dropped into the sand and sighed softly, his gaze on the water’s edge. He’d decided when he’d started his search to let Jim call the shots tonight. If the kid wanted to talk about it, then they’d talk about it. If not, they’d just sit there in silence until he decided what he wanted from McCoy and, if feasible, McCoy would provide. 

For awhile it seemed like all they would do would be to sit there in silence surrounded by the sounds of the seagulls and the rush of the ocean. But then McCoy felt Kirk shift and he turned to look at his friend. That seemed to be the signal Kirk had been waiting for.

“I failed it again.”

McCoy hummed. “Did you fail it, or did you just not beat it?”

“Is there a difference?” 

“Well,” McCoy replied, “if you failed it, that means you won’t be able to graduate the command-track and that’d put a damper on your three year plan. But if you just didn’t beat it, that doesn’t mean you failed it, so you can just put it behind you and move on.”

Jim scoffed. “I tried everything, Bones,” he said angrily. “I studied all the famous tactical maneuvers that have been used in combat since the 20th century and I mixed and matched them to the situation. When the shields and weapons began to fail, I cannibalized parts and power from other sectors to compensate for the loss of power and managed to boost the weapons’ energy beams to twice their original firepower, and with enough juice in the banks for one shot to each of the enemy ships. I had those fuckers in my sight, but they managed to evade and only sustained minimal damage. _Minimal damage_. From phaser banks at _twice their capacity_.” 

McCoy watched as Kirk became increasingly agitated as he recounted the test and its outcome. He took in the flush painting Kirk’s cheeks pink, the sweat making his hair curl at its base and the shaking in his hands as he moved them about to emphasize his point. McCoy shook his head. Kirk had probably forgotten to eat again and now his blood sugar had dropped. Good thing he’d come prepared. He reached into his pockets and took out an energy bar which he slapped into Kirk’s outstretched hand as it made a pass by his face. 

Kirk stopped mid-sentence and stared at the wrapped food dumbfounded. “What’s this?” 

“It’s a power bar. Eat it,” McCoy ordered.

“Bones, what the hell! I’m trying to tell you something important and you slap food in my hand?” Jim said indignantly as he waved the power bar in the air.

“Don’t argue with me and eat the damn bar before you faint,” McCoy grumbled.

“Fine,” Jim sniped as he tore open the power bar and took a big bite, chewing it obnoxiously. “Happy?” he asked with his mouth full.

“God, you’re so disgusting, Kirk. Didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners?” he griped back, glaring at the blond.

“No,” Jim replied succinctly as he swallowed the food in his mouth and finished off the bar in two big bites.

McCoy couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was by far one of the most disgusting things he’d ever seen, especially considering how difficult it was to chew and swallow those bars. But Jim had always been a feat of nature when it came to food, shoveling it all in without taking a breather or time to enjoy what he was actually eating. Actually, it was a wonder McCoy hadn’t had to perform the Heimlich maneuver yet. But McCoy knew better than to say anything by now. The first time he’d noticed the way Jim ate, he’d told him to hold his horses lest he choke to death. Jim had frozen with his fork still in the air and had stared at him with wide, horrified blue eyes. It’d taken McCoy three weeks of intense persuasion to get Jim to agree to eat in front of him again. 

He watched silently as Jim crumbled the empty wrapper and stuffed it in his pocket. He waited a few seconds as Jim sighed softly and wrapped his arms around him bent knees, resting his chin on his forearms and staring out at the foaming ocean. When it became clear that Jim wasn’t going to say anything more substantial than his previous rant, McCoy huffed an annoyed breath.

“Jim, did you fail the test, or did you just not beat it?” he asked irascibly.

Kirk bit his lower lip and looked down at the sand, his shoulders hunching down protectively. “Bones,” he whispered. “Don’t you see?” 

McCoy frowned at the tone. He’d never heard the kid sound so… small. “See what?”

“This…” He paused. “This is what my dad felt. When he died.”

“Jim,” McCoy said softly.

“Helpless. Frustrated. Scared out of his fucking mind.” Jim shook his head. “The first time I panicked and I froze when I saw that message because it hit me, right there on that simulated bridge, that this was what my father had faced. But he didn’t panic, Bones. The records show that he paused just long enough to accept his fate because ten seconds later he was on the captain chair talking to the medical shuttle’s pilot.”

“Jim, you can’t–”

“My father didn’t freeze, Bones,” Jim said resolutely. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again and let out a small breath while shaking his head. “You know, Pike said my dad didn’t believe in no-win scenarios. Do you know what I said to that?”

McCoy shook his head.

“I told him that it hadn’t served him very well. Pike told me that it depended on the point of view. He told me… He told me that I was here, alive. That my dad didn’t see his position as a no-win scenario because he _knew_ that he’d get my mom and me out of there.”

“He’s pretty smart, Pike,” McCoy grumbled. “It’s actually kind of unnerving.”

“Yeah,” Jim snorted. “But, you know, I didn’t get it. Not then, anyway. I only joined Starfleet ‘cause I was bored and I knew I was going nowhere fast and, well, he dared me. But now…”

Jim shook his head and sighed again. One more sigh out of him and McCoy was going to start checking for some kind of disease. He’d never seen the other man like this before, quiet and contemplative. Not that Jim didn’t have his moments of introspection, but they tended to be more intense, his whole being focused on the PADD, fingers flying over the console in search of his answer. This… This was low-key and, dare he think it, mature. 

“I think I get it, now,” Jim continued softly. 

Because now he saw what Pike had seen: the philosophy behind the heroic actions of a young George Kirk. He’d understood that George had believed in a cup half-full, and that as long as you were alive, there was always a solution, there was always a way to win. In his mind, in order to win, he was giving up his life in exchange for that of his wife and unborn son. Jim hadn’t understood that back then, in that bar in Iowa. He hadn’t known what it was like to have people for whom he’d die to protect, to give a chance at life. But now…

Looking at Bones sitting next to him, and thinking about Gaila who had left increasingly frantic voice messages on his comm, he smiled. Now he knew what his father had had, and he knew that he’d have done the same thing to save those he cared about. Now he knew that although he might not make it out alive, it wouldn’t be a no-win scenario because those who really mattered would live. He knew that, next time? He wouldn’t freeze.

“I’m taking it again.”


	7. U.S.S. Entreprise

Everything was quiet for now. It’d been twenty-six hours since Kirk had ordered Scotty to eject and detonate the wrap core into the singularity eating away at the _Narada_ , and things had finally calmed down. Scotty, with the help of the remaining engineering crew (and Kirk’s occasional lending hand) had managed to bring their second engine back from the brink of death and had stabilized impulse power. This, in turn, had allowed Chekov to recalculate their estimated time to Earth and he’d been able to decrease their time from the initial one week down to three days. When McCoy had heard the news, Kirk had thought he’d start weeping. Considering the hit medical had taken, what with the Vulcan refugees loitering the hallways looking lost (or as lost-looking as Vulcans got) and the ridiculous number of wounded the _Enterprise_ had accumulated, it was a wonder the ship still had any sort of medical supply. 

Kirk himself was past the point of exhaustion. It had been three days now since he had been accused of cheating on the _Kobayashi Maru_ , and he didn’t know if he’d ever recover from everything that had happened. Between the loss of an entire planet and the brain eating shit-storm that were time paradoxes, Kirk’s head was about ready to explode. His bruises had bruises and the migraine that had been his constant companion since the adrenaline had drained from his system had had him sequestered in the bathroom for five minutes throwing up and then trying to get the motivation he needed to get back up from the nice, cold floor. 

He surveyed the bridge from the captain’s chair, taking in the various slumped shoulders and listening to the veiled groans and sighs from the crew. The bridge crew was the same that had been present when they’d entered Vulcan space all those hours ago (minus Pike, but he wasn’t thinking about this now, no way, not yet), and he was pretty sure they wouldn’t get any rest until he did. Because he was the Acting Captain, and if he could still be coherent and functioning after what he’d been through, then so could they. And even though he could order them to get some rest, he was pretty sure they’d just glare at him and refuse to move. So he’d just have to lead by example, he supposed.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, enjoying his last few seconds of freedom. God, Bones was going to have a field day with him. “Bridge to Sickbay,” he said into the communication unit by his arm.

He waited a few seconds before the comm unit crackled back. “This is McCoy.”

“Hey Bones, think you could come up to the bridge?”

“Oh sure,” he drawled, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Because I have nothing better to do with my time than come up to the bridge at your beck and call.” There was a small sound over the unit quickly followed by McCoy’s loud shout of “ _Hey! You! Yes, you! I told you to keep still! Are you deaf, man? How did you even make it past the entrance exam to the Academy? No, don’t answer that!_ ”

Kirk could feel his eyebrows slowly going up to his hairline at the rant McCoy was bestowing upon the unsuspecting ensign. Kirk did not envy him. “Bones,” he tried interjecting, going totally ignored. He groaned, leaning his head back on the chair and closing his eyes briefly as McCoy continued to berate the poor man. “Bones!” he finally shouted over the doctor.

 _“What?”_ the doctor snapped.

“What, _sir_ ,” Kirk emphasized in a futile attempt to remind Bones that he was the Captain now and that the man was skirting insubordination.

There was a beat of silence over the line. “I’ll be right there,” McCoy grunted.

Kirk disconnected without replying. He blinked, surprised that he had forgotten to open his eyes, and promptly winced as the overhead lights stabbed at his eyes and ratcheted his migraine up another notch. He could feel the pain move downward and leave nausea in its wake. He was suddenly incredibly thankful he’d already thrown up whatever he had managed to scarf down or else his crew would have been privy to a pretty gruesome show. As it was, he could feel the bile in his throat and covered his eyes with his hand, a small, barely audible whimper making its way up his throat.

“Lights at fifty percent,” he heard a deep voice order from behind him. 

The computer obliged immediately and Kirk let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and cracked his eyes open again. That, Kirk decided, had been a mistake. As soon as the dimmed lights hit his pupils he felt the bile rise up to his mouth and he reflexively turned to the side and threw up. He could feel it as the bile burned its way up his throat and he chocked on the dry heaves as the migraine grew in intensity from the lack of air. He could vaguely hear surprised shouts from his crew and felt a hot hand on his neck, digging into the bunched muscles in a gentle massage. And just as soon as the nausea had come, it was gone. Kirk let out a small groan of relief and slumped further down into the chair, letting his head rest on his forearm which was in turn supported by the chair’s armrest. He shivered slightly from the cold sweat and the counterpoint of the hot hand on the back of his neck.

“Spock,” he groaned softly into his arm, sure the Vulcan would be able to hear him.

“Yes, Captain,” the Vulcan replied, his breath brushing Kirk’s cheek as he crouched down to be at the same level as him.

“Is Bones almost here? I don’t feel so good.”

“The doctor should be here momentarily, Jim,” Spock replied softly.

“Okay, good. That’s good,” Jim mumbled. “I want everyone to be given at least eight hours of mandatory rest, including you.”

“Captain, that is not–”

“That’s an order Spock,” Jim said more forcefully. When Spock failed to reply, he could only assume acceptance. “You’re in charge after that, Mr. Spock.”

“Very well, Captain.” 

Kirk was about to reply when he heard the distinct whoosh of pneumatic doors opening. He let out a small groan and Spock could feel his muscles tensing beneath his hand as Doctor McCoy made his way onto the bridge.

“All right, _Captain_. You rang and here I a– Bloody hell, Jim!” McCoy exclaimed, reaching the Captain’s chair in three quick strides. “What happened?”

“Bones,” Jim moaned as he tried to bury his head deeper into his arm. “Don’t yell so loud, please.”

“Don’t – Are you kidding me?” McCoy yelled as he pulled out his tricoder from his belt.

“Doctor,” Spock snapped softly, one hot hand still on Kirk’s neck and resuming its previous motion. “The Captain is suffering from a very severe migraine and various wounds. Excessive and unnecessary noise will only serve to further aggravate the situation.”

“Migraine? Has he–” McCoy took a small sniff and made a face. “Right. You might want to send for a cleaning crew, Mr. Spock.”

“One is already on its way, sir,” Uhura chimed in from the communication station as she stared at the unfolding scene.

McCoy hummed and frowned at his readings. “Jim, did you throw up before now?” Kirk nodded his head once. “When?” Kirk shrugged. “Jim,” McCoy warned.

“I dunno, Bones… Maybe… an hour ago?” Jim mumbled.

“Oh, that’s just… Brilliant. All right, let’s get you to sickbay. I’ll call a gurney,” McCoy said even as he reached for his communicator.

“No gurney,” Jim said as he raised his head from his arm to glare at McCoy.

“You’re in no condition to walk, Jim,” McCoy countered. “Chapel, send an anti-grav gurney to the bridge.”

“The crew–”

“Will not think any less highly of you, Captain,” Spock said before Kirk could finish voicing his protest. “They are fully cognizant of the great strain your body has endured in the last few days and morale will not flag simply because you have reached your limit.” There was a small pause. “Additionally, I believe the opposite will be true. If you have succumbed to your ailments, the crew will believe that they, too, are finally allowed to rest.”

The bridge was bathed in silence for a moment before Jim let out a loud snort. “That, Mr. Spock, might be the biggest lie I have ever heard,” Jim said softly. “But,” he continued before Spock could say anything, “I appreciate the effort.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I assure you, sir, that Vulcans do not lie.” 

“Right,” Kirk sighed as he lowered his head to his arm again.

There was another swoosh of the doors opening and Kirk felt Spock’s hand press down gently on his neck, a warning that the gurney had arrived. Kirk kept his eyes closed as he felt two pair of hands pull him off the chair and maneuver him onto the gurney. He groaned softly when the movement ignited various pains throughout his body, the migraine just making everything hurt more. Once he was finally lying on the gurney, he felt a broad hand run through his hair and sighed blissfully as a cold pack was placed on his eyes.

“All right, Jim,” McCoy said from next to him. “I’m going to give you something for the pain, and then we’ll head off.”

Kirk hummed in agreement and cringed at the sting of the hypospray as it bit into his neck. He was just conscious enough to feel the gurney start its journey to the infirmary before blissful darkness claimed him.

***

Twelve hours later found Kirk cocooned under a pile of blankets in the captain’s quarters nursing the tell-tale end of his migraine of doom. McCoy had kept him in the infirmary just long enough to run him through the dermal regenerator to give him some reprieve from his bruises, but unfortunately the _Enterprise_ hadn’t been stocked with any headache medication he wasn’t allergic to. So he’d been ordered back to Pike’s quarters to sleep it off in darkness and silence. The fight that had broken out between Kirk and McCoy at those orders had had the nurses running and Kirk throwing up bile from the side of his bed again from the noise and nausea. He’d held on obstinately until Spock had shown up and told him, in his most logical tone, that the ship was at maximum capacity and he had nowhere else to go.

So now there he was, blinking in the darkness and trying to decide if he was likely to face-plant if he tried to get out of bed to go to the bathroom and grab a cup of tea from the replicator. He didn’t think his stomach could deal with food just yet, but ingesting some form of liquid probably wasn’t a bad idea. He’d just made up his mind to go ahead with his plan when the doors to the quarters opened without warning and an elephant stomped into the room.

“Lights, twenty percent.”

“Hi, Bones,” he called out, his voice muffled from the blankets covering him. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Cut the crap, kid,” McCoy grumbled as he sat on the bed next to Kirk. He pulled down the covers just enough to reveal disheveled hair and pink-tinged cheeks. “Are you running a fever?” McCoy asked horrified even as his hand automatically sought out Kirk’s forehead and brushed it lightly. He let out an annoyed hum and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at Kirk critically. “How are you feeling?”

“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” Kirk asked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

“So help you God, kid,” McCoy replied.

“I feel like crap. But the migraine is mostly gone. Actually, I was just debating the merits of peeing and then getting some tea when you stomped in.”

“No tea. The caffeine might flare up the migraine again, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that. You can have water or juice. As for the bathroom run, let’s get you upright and I’ll help you there.”

Jim pulled a face but didn’t counter the doctor’s orders. Instead he kicked at the covers and slowly pushed himself upright. He closed his eyes momentarily as the world tilted sideways, but McCoy’s warm hand on his shoulder helped to anchor him and slow the sense of vertigo. Slowly, and with McCoy’s hand holding him by the elbow, he stood up right. He felt the blood rush down his body and blinked against the black spots that had spread across his vision; this was why he hated being on bed rest. Once he was ready, he nodded to McCoy and together they slowly made their way to the bathroom on the other side of the room.

He briefly debated the merits of a shower but decided he’d rather not tempt fate. He shuffled back to bed with McCoy’s help and all but collapsed on top of the covers, groaning softly as a dull throb pulsed behind his eyelids. He took a deep breath and groped at the blankets underneath him, trying to bring them back up to cover his head to block out the light. Before he could manage it, the bed dipped slightly and he groaned again when he felt McCoy’s hand dig into his neck muscles.

“You’re coiled tighter than a spring, Jim. Try to relax, for fuck’s sake.”

“Bones,” Kirk mumbled into the blankets. “You have the best bedside manners ever. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar.”

“Prick,” McCoy grumbled as he dug his fingers into the knots. He smirked as Kirk groaned and sank further into the mattress. “I brought you some water for when you’re ready for it.”

Kirk didn’t reply, but he could feel a heavy silence settle between them. “What is it, Bones?”

“What?”

“Come on, spit it out. I can’t do this with you right now.”

McCoy sighed softly. “You should call your mom.”

“No,” Jim said immediately. 

“Jim–”

“No. Stop it, Bones. Let it go,” Jim ordered, the muscles that had started to relax under McCoy’s hand tensing back up again.

“Jim, listen to me,” McCoy said, letting his hand just rest on Jim’s neck. “I know… I know you can’t forgive her. And maybe you never will, but… She knows you’re at the Academy, Jim. And she knows you’re in the graduating class.”

“How would she–” Jim abruptly closed his mouth. “Have you–” Jim winced as his voice cracked. “Have you been talking to my mother behind my back?” he whispered angrily as he pushed himself up, slapping McCoy’s hand away.

McCoy stared at him silently.

“You have!” Jim accused him, anger coloring his voice. “I cannot _believe_ you! How long has this been going on?”

“I called her a couple of weeks after we got back from Disney World,” McCoy said, eyes never wavering from Jim’s angry face.

“ _You_ called _her_? After _Disney World_?” Jim exclaimed. “That was nearly two years ago, you fucking asshole! You’ve been talking to my mother behind my back for two years?” 

“Jim– ”

“Don’t you _dare–_ ”

“Will you calm the fuck down and shut the fuck up, for once?” McCoy finally snapped. Kirk stopped mid-rant and stared at his friend. “Finally,” McCoy grumbled.

Jim huffed out an angry breath and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at McCoy but keeping his mouth shut. He knew there would be no talking (yelling or otherwise) with the doctor when he started speaking like that. He might as well just shut up and listen to the man and then tear him a new one.

“Look, Jim,” McCoy started, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying I condone anything your mother did, because I don’t. I think she was irresponsible, blind, and she royally fucked up everything.” Jim hummed angrily. “ _That being said,_ ” McCoy continued, glaring at him, “I think you should give her a chance.”

“Why?”

“She’s your mother, Jim,” McCoy said.

“That’s not a good enough reason.”

“And she loves you.” Jim snorted but the doctor ignored him. “Everyone makes mistakes, Jim, some graver than others, and some are unforgivable. But…” McCoy paused and took a deep breath. “She can’t forgive herself, Jim. And I don’t think she ever will.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” Jim replied stubbornly.

McCoy sighed. “Jim, she loves you.”

“Why are you so insistent on this? Why are you siding with her?” Jim asked, hurt.

“I’m siding with you, kid. I think you need this. You _want_ this.”

Jim let you a soft sigh and looked down at his hands. “It won’t change anything,” he whispered.

“It might.”

“It won’t.”

“Will you stop being an ass and just talk to her, already?” McCoy finally snapped.

“I don’t…” Jim paused and swallowed visibly. “I don’t know what to say.”

“‘Hi Mom, guess who?’ is a good start,” McCoy teased.

“Shut up,” Jim grumbled.

“Jim… She probably thinks you’re dead.” At that, Jim looked up, confusion written all over his face. “Out of the seven Starfleet ships that were attacked, six were destroyed, and by the same ship that attacked the _Kelvin_. And all your mother knows is that you’re part of the graduating class and there’s a six in seven chance you were in one of the ships that was torn apart. And even if she held on to the hope you were here, on the _Enterprise_ , we’ve lost nearly half the crew, Jim.” McCoy paused briefly. “For all she knows, you were killed the same way and by the same man that killed George Kirk.”

Jim looked at Bones horrified, his blue eyes wide as saucers. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he threw the covers off himself and nearly fell on the ground in his haste to reach the desk and the comm unit. 

“Bones, Bones! I need your code. Give me your code!” he commanded, a panicked edge to his voice.

“What are you– ”

“I need to bypass the communication security system so I can bounce a private signal through the relay station at Space Station 42. But I need command access to the computer network and I don’t have one because I’m a stowaway and I haven’t _needed one_ since I’ve taken over command! Give me your codes, _now_!” Jim’s voice had gotten progressively louder during his tirade and McCoy nearly winced at the last word.

He walked up to where Jim was sitting in front of the computer terminal and activated the verification sequence. “Leonard H. McCoy, verification Beta-Lambda-Phi-Omega-Three.”

The computer chirped its approval and before he could move away, Jim was typing furiously into the terminal, bringing up one display after another and creating line after line of code. McCoy stared at him in disbelief, incredulous that his words had incited such intensity and controlled panic in his friend. The only other time McCoy had seen Jim this absorbed while programming something had been in the days right before his third _Kobiyashu Maru_ exam. He watched silently as Jim grumbled and cursed under his breath until suddenly he let out a triumphant ‘Aha!’ and pressed a few final keys before a blank screen took over the entire unit.

“Come on…” he murmured, fingers drumming impatiently on the desk. “Pick up… Pick up…”

McCoy had just opened his mouth to ask Jim what was going on when an image flickered several times before stabilizing into the familiar features of Winona Kirk. There was a beat of silence before both Kirks started talking at the same time.

“Jim! Jim, is that really you? Oh thank God! You’re alive! I was so worried you were – ”

“Mom! It’s me, I’m fine, I’m alive. There’s nothing to worry about. We’re on our way back – ”

And just as abruptly they both fell silent. McCoy shifted slightly behind Jim as the silence stretched and the tension in the room grew. He watched as mother and son stared at each other, neither willing to be the first to speak, both afraid they’d say something they’d regret. McCoy shook his head and moved to stand behind Jim, placing a hand in his shoulder.

“Hi Winona,” he said as he bent over to look at Jim’s mother.

“Leonard! Thank God. I was worried sick about the two of you. And no one in Starfleet would tell me anything since I’m not listed as either of your emergency contacts.”

“We’re fine,” McCoy said hastily, trying to avoid the potential bombshell from Winona’s comment about their proxy status.

“Jim?” Winona questioned, blue eyes staring at her son desperately. 

Jim forced himself to keep looking at his mother as a tight smile stretched over his lips. “A little banged up, but otherwise I’m fine. _We’re_ fine. We should reach Earth in about three days.”

Jim watched as his mother worried her bottom lip for a few moments before squaring her shoulders and looking back at him determinately. “Can I be there when you land?”

Jim physically jerked back at the question, surprised she had even asked it. He unconsciously mirrored his mother’s previous action, worrying his bottom lip for a minute as he thought over her request. Did he want her there when they landed? It was going to be a mess, and the press was probably going to be having orgasms over them as they exited the shuttles. But… 

A firm squeeze on his shoulder had him looking up at McCoy. Everyone else’s family would probably be there. And no matter what he said, he did want his mother to be there for him. He wanted her to be proud of him, to care for him, to… He wasn’t really sure what he wanted from her, but he just knew he wanted something. And that she _was_ trying. It took two to create and nurture a relationship, and his mother had taken the first leap.

He nodded silently before finding his voice. “Y-Yeah. Yes.”

He watched as his mother’s spreading smile lit up her face and made her look years younger as the stress lines that had marred it suddenly faded away. “Thank you, James.”

He nodded again, too flabbergasted to say anything. An angry beep from the console snapped him out of it and he looked down to see it was a hail from the bridge. Probably Uhura about to chew him out for mucking about in her department. He winced slightly and looked up at his mom with a sheepish expression. 

“I gotta go, Mom. See you soon.”

“Bye, Jimmy. I love you,” Winona said, one hand splayed on the screen and her smile never fading as she cut off their link before Jim could say anything.

“I love you, too,” Jim whispered to the dark screen, slowly bringing up his hand and placing it where his mother’s hand had been. 

A squeeze on his shoulder had him looking up at McCoy and smiling softly before closing his eyes and shaking off the hand. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, ignoring the insistent beeping from the console until he felt like he was in control once more. He slapped his legs once and flicked the comm unit back to life, forcing himself not to wince at Uhura’s glare.

“Sir,” she growled quietly, voice bordering on insubordination. “There was a mysterious signal emitting from the Captain’s quarters directed at Starbase 42, which the bridge’s instruments were unable to decipher or terminate. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you, _sir_?”

Jim shrugged, mindful of his lingering aches. “No idea, Lieutenant. Better start investigating that and make sure no one’s hacked our systems.”

“I’ll get right on it, sir” she grumbled. She shook her head once before squaring her shoulders. “Sir, we’re ready to contact Starfleet.”

Jim nodded curtly. “I’ll be there momentarily. Start hailing them, Lieutenant.” 

Kirk cut the line and stared at the blank screen for a moment before inhaling deeply and pushing himself to his feet. “Time to face the music, Bones.”

“We’re going to be chewed alive, aren’t we?” McCoy groaned as he followed Kirk back to the bridge.

“You bet your ass we are. Chewed up and spit back out.”

Kirk marched onto the bridge and stopped in his track as all his senior officers, as one, stood up to welcome him. Without a word, he walked down to the well of the bridge until he stood where he had been a little over a day ago as Nero’s ship had slowly sunk into the blackhole. He stared up at the cracks in the hull and the blackness of space beyond it and smiled. What was it that Bones had said that first day? Disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence? Who would have thought he’d be right?

“Ready when you are, sir,” Uhura said from her station.

“All right Lieutenant,” he nodded as he adopted a parade rest. “Let’s get this show started.”

“If I may, sir,” Kirk heard Spock say from his right. 

He looked over his shoulder to see the Vulcan stop slightly behind his right shoulder and come to parade rest. Blinking, he looked over his left shoulder and watched as Bones planted himself there, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl firmly set in his brows. He was about to question the two men when movement from his peripheral vision had him turning around to watch as Sulu, Chekov, and Scotty came to stand behind him. From her station, Uhura was standing at parade rest and staring at him, mouth quirked in a small smirk.

Kirk inhaled deeply and pushed down the sharp, overwhelming pain in his heart at seeing his crew standing behind him, and focused his gaze as the blank view screen flickered to life to show a gaggle of scowling admirals. He might be a stowaway and a cheater, but he’d just saved the Earth and he knew, without a doubt, that the crew, this crew, was now _his_ crew.


	8. And One That Didn't: James T. Kirk

When Jim was younger, he’d liked to close his eyes and imagine what his life would have been like if George Kirk had survived the destruction of the _USS Kelvin_. He’d liked to imagine long summer days spent in the sun running away from an imaginary monster, only to have his father come to his rescue amidst the tall fields of green and gold. He’d liked to think that he’d have been a calmer boy, less prone to rebellion and fist fights. He’d liked to pretend that he’d have been more candid about his intelligence, about his feelings, about himself.

But George Kirk hadn’t survived. And instead of summer days in the sun, Jim got years of loaded silence as he crept about the house avoiding Frank, and months spent in mud and rotting corpses as Tarsus IV fell apart around him. He got a distant mother, an absent brother, and a string of meaningless relationships until he was twenty-two, when a bad-tempered Georgian had sat down next to him and offered him a drink from his flask. He got self-defense and martial arts lessons and instead of relying on others for help, he helped himself. There had been no journey of self-discovery for him; instead, he had developed a ruthlessly efficient suppression mechanism which, he had to admit, had left him emotionally stunted in various aspects of his life.

But, for better or worse, those experiences had shaped him; and, try as he might, there was only so much he could do to change now. Those who knew him best, his bridge crew, had come to realize that most of him was a front, a wall, a mirage where people saw only what they wished to see. They had come to understand that he was always plotting, always calculating probabilities and strategies. And while it had been disconcerting when he’d first realized that he was an open book to them, he couldn’t deny that it came in handy.

Especially in moments like these when he was stuck on the bridge after a disastrous mission and all he wanted to do was to go back to his quarters and bury himself under the covers and pretend that the day had never happened. He’d seen the not so subtle looks his officers had shared and had heard Uhura whispering into her head piece. So when Bones commed the bridge and mandated he come down to sickbay, he wasn’t the least bit surprised; in fact, he was kind of disappointed that it had taken his crew so long to stage an intervention.

“Mr. Spock, you have–”

“If you would permit, sir,” Spock cut him off as he stood from his chair and walked the short distance between the science station and the captain’s chair. “I would request to accompany you to sickbay.”

Kirk felt his eyebrow go up in surprise. “Really?”

“Really, sir,” Spock deadpanned.

Kirk shrugged. “Suit yourself, then. Mr. Sulu, you have the con.”

“Aye, sir.”

They made their way to the infirmary in silence, hands and shoulders brushing occasionally. When they crossed the threshold into McCoy’s domain, Kirk sighed softly and made his way to his usual bed. All he wanted was to curl up in his own bed and sleep for the next week, but he knew that the chances of that happening were close to none. So instead he stared at his hands, examining his short, bitten nails and the way the light made his hands seem paler than usual. He could feel Spock’s presence at his side, but he decided not to acknowledge it. 

Loud, heavy footsteps announced McCoy’s arrival and Kirk took a deep breath before looking up. Before he could even open his mouth McCoy was shoving the end of the tricorder in his face and staring at the readings, all the while grumbling to himself. Kirk blinked in surprise and looked at Spock, a small grin spreading over his lips at the doctor’s actions. He choked back a laugh when Spock very deliberately rolled his eyes.

“What’s so funny?” McCoy demanded, glaring up at Kirk and then at Spock. “And what are you doing here?” he asked, glowering at the half-Vulcan.

“I wished to make sure the Captain was in good health,” Spock replied serenely.

“I’m sure you did,” McCoy retorted as he looked back at his readings.

Jim bit his lower lip in a useless attempt to stop himself from smiling, and coughed softly in a poor attempt to regain his composure. “So, doc? What’s the verdict?”

McCoy glared at him. “You’re exhausted. And you’ll have some interesting bruises in the morning, but there’s nothing I can do for you here. I’ll give you some painkillers and muscle relaxant you can take in the morning so you can function, but I’m taking you off duty for a day _so you can recover_ ,” McCoy shouted, shutting up Kirk as soon as he’d opened his mouth to protest.

Kirk crossed his arms and glared at his friend. 

“Stop pouting and get out of my infirmary before I decide you’re overdue for your allergy shots,” McCoy grumbled as he threw a bottle of pills at Kirk, who caught it easily.

“Geez, Bones. It’s always a pleasure to come down to see you. You’re always such a ball of sunshine. Let’s go, Spock, before our good Dr, Jenkyll turns into Mr. Hyde.” Kirk hopped off the bed and grinned at Spock’s raised eyebrow and McCoy’s loud snort. 

As Kirk made his way out of the infirmary and headed toward his quarters, he knew, without having to look, that Spock would follow him. One year into their five year voyage and this thing between them had shifted first into a comfortable and easy friendship, and then had grown and evolved until it had become something more. It was in the way Spock looked at him across the bridge when he thought Kirk wasn’t looking; in the way his eyes followed Spock as he rose and bid him goodnight after their games of chess; in the way they just couldn’t stop touching each other. And Kirk wasn’t going to lie: he liked that something more. But sometimes he felt like they could be even more than what they had become, and he had a feeling he was the one holding them back from getting there.

As soon as the door to his quarters opened he made his way to their shared bathroom, intent on taking a quick shower and then going to bed; if he was on medical leave, then he was going to take full advantage of it. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when he spotted Spock working from his terminal as he exited the bathroom ten minutes later. He made his way to his bed and slipped under the covers, curling into a fetal position and watching Spock work silently. There was something inherently soothing about Spock being in his room, and without conscious thought he closed his eyes and let the soft sounds wash over him.

***

Jim jerked awake, his breath hitching and cold sweat coating his clammy skin. He lay absolutely still for a few seconds, disoriented, staring at the bookshelf across his bed. He could make out a few titles, all of them bound and some of them in better condition than others. Slowly he moved his gaze to his bedside table and the book that sat on it. _Peter Pan_. He could feel his muscles relaxing and his breathing easing as he took deeper breaths. Right. The _Enterprise_. 

The unexpected sound of rustling bed sheets startled him and his muscles tensed back up as adrenaline flooded his system, kicking in his fight or flight response. But his mind stopped short of it when it registered the inhuman heat radiating from the body next to him and the sweet smell of desert and spices. He closed his eyes and with a soft groan, he rolled over, seeking out heat and soft skin. He splayed himself over his bedmate and let out all the pent up stress and anxiety in one long exhale.

“Spock,” he murmured, tightening his hold on the man momentarily.

“Jim,” Spock whispered, long fingers running through sweat-damp hair. “Do you wish to talk about it?” 

Spock waited silently for Jim to make up his mind. Despite Spock’s best efforts, this was not an uncommon situation for them to find themselves in. Spock had learned of Jim’s recurrent nightmares and bouts of insomnia early on in their friendship and had, on more than one occasion, used his override codes to access the captain’s quarters and shake the man awake. It was the nature of the beast that Spock had always caught glimpses of Jim’s dreams as he sought to wake him; the captain liked to sleep in his boxer shorts and little else. 

At first, he had kept quiet, accepting Jim’s thanks and apologies and leaving the man to calm himself in peace. But, as their friendship grew, Spock began to linger. First it was a short vigil after Jim had fallen asleep again to make sure the captain was well and truly asleep before he went back to his quarters to finish his own sleep cycle. Then it was a longer vigil, dragging a chair and a PADD over by the bed and staying put until he was sure the other man would be fine. Then a chair became the side of the bed, became the bed, became shared bed times and Jim curled up in a ball around him, shaking silently as he jerked awake from a dream. It was only once they had begun to take the tentative steps towards becoming something more that Jim had finally opened up. And even that was an overstatement. Jim rarely said more than two sentences about his dreams, preferring instead to wrap himself around Spock’s warmth and bury his face in the crook of the Vulcan’s neck, the faster heartbeat lulling him back to sleep.

“He would have waited,” Jim whispered into Spock’s skin.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “You are being more enigmatic than usual, Jim. Please clarify.”

Jim sighed. “The other Kirk. You know, the other Spock’s Kirk.”

“You are referring to my alternate self’s James Kirk,” Spock stated as he tightened his grip on Jim. As illogical as it was, he preferred to forget there was another Spock sharing his universe; it made him thoroughly uncomfortable to think that there were two of him, and one of Jim. 

“Yeah. He would have waited for backup,” Jim mumbled again.

“Jim, you cannot know for certain–”

“Yes, I can,” Jim said, cutting him off sharply. “I know because I saw it, saw him.” Jim pushed himself up on one elbow and sighed. Spock raised an eyebrow as Jim worried his lower lip, brows furrowed in thought, as if his next words were something he had never wanted to divulge. “On Delta Vega, the other Spock mind melded with me.”

“He did what?” Spock exclaimed, unable to stop himself from showing the blatant horror he felt coursing through him. “That was highly inappropriate of him considering the circumstances and the fact that you did not know him nor could you have comprehended the enormity of what a mind meld entailed.”

“I knew he was you,” Jim defended. “But no,” Jim grimaced as he recalled the painful meld, the flashes of color and raw emotions that had bled and colored his mind along with the overload of information. “I had no idea what a mind meld would do to me. And it didn’t help that he was completely emotionally unstable.” Jim felt Spock shift next to him and put a hand on his chest, pushing down, silently asking the Vulcan to lie still. “Spock,” Jim said, lifting his hand to rest on the Vulcan’s cheek. “Just, let me finish first before you decide to verbally eviscerate yourself, okay?”

Spock deflated immediately. “Very well, Jim.”

“Thanks,” Jim said, taking in a deep breath. “So, we melded. And… I think it was probably because he’d found me, or I’d found him, and Vulcan had just, well. He let some… things, about his Kirk, slide through in the meld. I never told him, though. I figured it was just an accident since he was so compromised.”

“How much did he show you?” Spock asked, fascinated.

“He had a son, his Kirk. With this lady I’ve never met.” Spock tightened his hold on Jim at the wistful tone of his voice. “And he knew his father. And he was so much calmer, Spock. He stopped to think, you know? He didn’t just jump into a situation. I saw so many glimpses where that Kirk just planned everything down to the T. He knew exactly how people were going to react and he… He was amazing, Spock.”

“Jim, you cannot –”

“But I’m not him,” Jim continued as if Spock had never spoken, sprawling himself back onto Spock’s chest. “He might not have chased after those ships until backup had arrived, and he might not have engaged them without knowing for certain what their firing capabilities were, but I couldn’t do it, Spock. I couldn’t wait. And my impatience and stubbornness and just general lack of self-control cost us lives today.” 

Spock just barely held his tongue but could not stop himself from tightening his arms around Jim. He felt the Human squirm a little in the embrace and eased up a little; just enough for Jim to slide more fully into him. 

“I know it’s stupid, thinking about it. About the things I do versus the things the other Kirk would have done.”

“It is very illogical on your part,” Spock agreed, unable to stop himself. He nearly yelped in surprise when Jim flicked one of his nipples in reprimand. “I apologize, Jim. I will not longer interrupt.”

“Liar,” Jim chuckled. “There’s nothing for you to worry about, Spock. I won’t try to act like him.” 

“I am relieved to hear you say that,” Spock said, his hand going back to Jim’s hair to pet it. “It would be highly illogical for you to try and emulate the Kirk from my counterpart’s universe. Your trials and tribulations in this life have made you into the James Kirk most suited to best any adverse situation you might find yourself in. It would not be inconceivable that, should you attempt to curb your impulses to fit into the other Kirk’s mold–”

“The universe would collapse on itself and everyone would die?” Jim asked, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Spock scoffed quietly. “I would not have phrased it as such.”

“But that’s essentially what you’re saying.” Jim leaned up and pecked him on the lips before sprawling over the Vulcan again. “Either way, it wouldn’t matter.”

“And why is that, Jim?” Spock asked curiously.

Jim looked up then, blue eyes bright and mischievous, a lazy smile curling on his lips. “Because, Mr. Spock, I don’t know how to be anything else.”


End file.
